Elfsong
by Lynliss
Summary: Nimoë is an apprentice of Galadriel, tasked to accompany the Fellowship from Lothlorien, disguised as a man, and keep the company whole. When she fails in her task, she must join the fight to save Middle Earth, using her unique skills as a healer. Legolas/OC. COMPLETE!
1. The Shadow Rises

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or places from the Lord of the Rings, they are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien. Also, all major plot points that you recognize belong to Tolkien. Nimoë is my creation. This is meant for entertainment purposes only. I receive no money for my work, so please don't sue me.**

**Author's Note: I first wrote this story over a decade ago. I thought about giving it an overhaul, to bring it more into style with how I am writing now, but have decided to let it stand as it was originally written. However, I've discovered that in the meantime the fanfiction site managed to eat some of my formatting, so I'm going to back through to ****try to get rid of missing paragraph breaks and other discrepancies.**

#

Moonlight bathed the glade where stood the Mirror of Galadriel. The clear splash of water on stone and the soft whisper of the breeze wafted up from below, reaching the ears of Nimoë, who stood nigh unto an ancient oak, guarding the path to the glade. The Lady Galadriel had summoned her from her sleep to accompany her to the mirror, and she obeyed without question. Yet, as always, Nimoë was to remain alone, awaiting her return, while the Lady consulted the Mirror.

Lady Galadriel's sonorous voice began to intone words of wisdom, from deep in the Elven lore, so old that Nimoë could not follow what was spoken. A chill began to form in the air, slowly and with a feeling of menace. Nimoë wrapped her arms around herself, shivering in the unnaturally frigid air. Her breath came in foggy puffs. A great dread came upon her heart and she retreated without volition, stopping only when her back came against the oak tree, which stood sentinel above the glade.

Dark shadows separated themselves from the gentle, natural shade of the moon-bathed trees, and they advanced upon the Elf maiden, daring her to release her grip upon her soul. Feeling as if the chillness would steal her being away if she released her grasp, Nimoë fought the urge to flee. Her mistress and Lady was below, and she could not leave her to face the terror alone.

Finally, when Nimoë felt she could bear the cold and fear no longer, and the unnatural shadows had come within a handsbreadth of her body, the voice of Galadriel spoke one final word. This word was known to Nimoë, for it was the word used to command an ending.

Although the word had been pronounced boldly, there was a hesitation before the wind swirled away, bearing the unnatural cold with it. The shadows were ripped away, although tendrils reached back as if to grasp the Elf maid. An inhuman cry of thwarted rage rang through the glade with their passing.

Peace once again held sway in the woods of Lothlorien, and Nimoë stood away from the oak, her heart racing, and turned with trepidation to watch the Lady of the Wood mount the stone steps from the glade. It was with heavy tread, so rarely seen among elves, that Galadriel finally appeared. Her shoulders drooped and her eyes were filled with unshed tears. Without speaking, she motioned Nimoë to follow her, and was mutely obeyed.

When the two Elven women had walked some distance from the glade of the Mirror, Galadriel turned to face her pupil. "Nimoë, long years have you spent here with me. I have given you training beyond that of ordinary elves. Yet still there is much for you to learn. Since you were sent to me from Mirkwood, I have fed the spark that I see burning within you. Your powers are great, but I fear that you have not the training to accomplish what must be done."

Nimoë gazed upon the radiant Lady in wonder, not comprehending what Galadriel spoke of, and still shaken by the strange evil which had so recently come upon them. "Of what speakst thou, my Lady? All that you have taught me I have striven to accomplish. The forest speaks to me. The stars show me things that are not seen by others. And still I am but a novice, a learner at your feet. You stand so far above me that I feel as if I am reaching for a star, even to be in your presence. I do not understand what must be done. Indeed, I do not understand what menaces us. I felt a great evil upon us at the Mirror, but surely I am not the one to face it. My Lady, it must be you who can defend us against this evil."

With deep pain etched across her perfect features, Galadriel turned away. "Alas, my time has passed. I will soon pass into the West, and leave this world. The elves are fading, Nimoë. You know this. Yet there is something within you, something that clings to this land like a deep-rooted vine. Your time has not yet come. And so it must be you." She turned again to lock her ice blue gaze with Nimoë's clear grey. "I must tell you of things, of a time long past, which rises again in this present. Sauron is rising in Mordor. The one ring is moving. It will come to us, and we must give all aid to those who guard it. Only when the ring of power is destroyed will Middle Earth be free from the clutches of the Dark Lord."

"The Dark Lord rises?" Nimoë's voice trembled as she spoke. "My Lady, how can we stand against his power? When last he came into this world, the elves were at their strongest, and even with their vast army, and that of the kingdoms of men, scarce were they able to defeat him. How now, when we are truly fading, can we hope to bring him low?"

Galadriel's smile was slight, almost cynical. "Sauron understands many things: power, greed, hunger, death. These things he can control. What he does not understand is love. Through the power of love, it may be possible that the weak will be strong enough to stand against him, for love is the mortar of all beings of pure heart. Nine will set forth from Rivendell. The bonds of their fellowship may be forged strong enough to accomplish their task. Or they may break when pressure is applied to the weak points. Nimoë, when they pass through Lorien, you will accompany them. I have taught you many things. One thing I have not yet taught you is a means of strengthening the ties of love and friendship, which will grow of their own accord. I will teach you this craft, so that you may help to keep the company true. Only if they remain pure of purpose will the fellowship succeed."

Nimoë bowed her head in acknowledgement, the motion sending her fair hair falling around her, glowing in the moonlight like a nimbus of sparkling fireflies. "So be it with me as you have decreed, my Lady."

Then, in silence, the two elves walked back towards their home among the trees. Both tall and radiant, they were a wonder to behold. The one both beautiful and terrible in her power, the other fair, with the innocence of youth still upon her. Both were caught up in their memories of the dread presence at the Mirror. Both looked towards the future, and how they might play a part. And both were afraid.


	2. Joining the Fellowship

Many weeks passed and Nimoë spent her days deep in study. This new song which Galadriel made her repeat again and again, wrapped in ever changing words, to disguise the power behind them from others, was more powerful than any other magic which Nimoë struggled to master. Frustration dogged her heels, as she floundered among the strands of power, unable to truly master them. The memory of the dread presence at the Mirror haunted her nights and drove her to give every fiber of her being over to the knowledge which was imparted to her.

Galadriel wondered many times as they days flowed past whether she was making the right choice. Nimoë was very young, hardly more than a youth, as Elves reckon such things, and it seemed that the burden she was being asked to shoulder might prove to be too heavy, but there was no other to send. Nimoë was the only one who had the training and understanding of the ancient powers.

The Lady reassured herself each time that doubts assailed her by reminding herself that she knew something of Nimoë's heart. Nimoë might seem as frail as a spring blossom, but within was a deep and abiding strength of purpose, which held her firm when trials were placed in her path. It would have to be enough.

#

Beset by weariness and grief, the fellowship of the ring made its way towards Lothlorien. As Galadriel and Nimoë observed their progress within their mind's eye, each perceived the hardship and anguish through which the band had suffered. Still they moved with purpose. Aragorn, lord of Men, led them forth, keeping a brisk pace. No tears had fallen from his eyes, yet the pall of loss was upon him. The four Halflings appeared haunted, and the trails of their tears still flowed down their small faces. Fear of what pursued them drove them forward, but their hearts remained behind. The three remaining companions, a Man of noble bearing, a hardy Dwarf and an Elf, both tall and handsome, ran onward, herding the Hobbits forward, although the Dwarf's eyes showed fear at approaching the woods of Lothlorien.

"They come. Nimoë, your time is upon you. Go to the Elf maids and they will disguise you. These men are proud, and would not suffer themselves to accept the aid of a woman. So you must be as a man. Garb yourself in raiment fitting for a long journey. Hide your hair and face beneath your hood. Never for a moment allow them to believe you anything but a man. Hurry now, they are approaching."

"Yes, my Lady."

#

When later that day the members of the fellowship were brought before Celeborn and Galadriel, Nimoë stood in the background, watching all that came to pass.

The Lord of Lothlorien addressed the fellowship. "Eight there are here, yet nine were to set forth from Rivendell. Tell me, where is Gandalf the Grey, for I much desire to speak with him."

Then, before any other could respond, the Elf-Lady answered him. "He has fallen into shadow."

All were made welcome to Lorien, and the weariness and care which rode them like a foul demon began to drop away. Nimoë observed as their bearing grew straighter and the grief began to lessen in their eyes. Still one, the man Boromir, did not seem to be affected by the powers of Galadriel's forest. His eyes darted here and there, and his muscles were clenched for flight. Indeed, all was not well within the fellowship. Galadriel was right. Their powers were needed.

#

When the time had come for the company to depart, and they made their way to the river, they were greeted at its bank by the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. The two stood straight and tall, and their faces were radiantly beautiful, surpassing even the usual splendor of the Elves. Galadriel addressed the fellowship. "Gentle Hobbits, valiant Men, noble Dwarf and my kinsman, far you have traveled, yet far greater is the distance you must now undertake. Your struggles have brought you this far, but your loss is great. Nine of you set forth from Rivendell. Nine of the Fellowship against the nine Nazgul. Yet now, you are but eight. This shall not avail you. I send one with you now, versed in the elven lore. He is very wise. Let his counsel guide you in the dark hours. Nimrodel, step forward."

Nimoë responded to the name she had chosen to use as a man. Close enough to her own name, and a reminder of her home in Lorien, the Nimrodel river was to be her namesake. True, the river had been named for a Elf lady who was sung in the ancient ballads, but there had been more than one male Elf since who had been given the name as well. She stepped forward from the assemblage of Elves, who had come to see the fellowship on its way.

Aragorn, shook his head, "My lady Galadriel, are we not strong enough? Elrond did send us as representatives of the free races of Middle Earth. We have already one Elf. Master Gimli may object to the addition of one more."

"You doubt my wisdom? Elrond himself seeks my counsel in matters of import. Yet perhaps you speak truly. Master Gimli," she turned the full power of her gaze upon the Dwarf's upturned face, "would you object to my counsel? Is one more Elf so terrible a thing?"

The Dwarf gazed at her enraptured. "My Lady, surely you are the wisest and most wondrous of creatures. If it is your will that one more of your ilk should join us, who am I to say it nay? "

"Is it decided then, Aragorn, son of Arathorn?"

"So be it."

Nimoë then bent to pick up the pack she had prepared. Pitching her voice low, she addressed the fellowship. "My good sirs, know that I will strive to aid you in all ways that I can. The ring of power must never fall into the hands of Sauron. My strengths do not lie in sword fighting or in archery. I am one who can influence the natural world. I do not have fearsome power, like that of Gandalf the Grey, and I can never take his place among you. Still I think that you may find I am useful to have along. The safety of the ring and its bearer are paramount. I thank you for your trust in Lady Galadriel's counsel. She shall not lead you astray."

Aragorn, reached out his right hand to clasp forearms with her. "Nimrodel, we welcome you." Then he released her and turned to the others. "Into the boats. We must be on our way."

Three boats there were, awaiting them at the banks of the river. Aragorn rowed the boat with Frodo and Sam, while Boromir took Merry and Pippin under his wing. Legolas, the Elven prince, held the last boat still as Gimli clambered on board, then beckoned to Nimoë. "Come, Nimrodel. Let us make haste. The future of Middle Earth awaits." And then he smiled. His face lit up like the sky at morning, and Nimoë felt joy stirring in her heart.

"So it does, Master Legolas. So it does." Nimoë stepped lightly into the boat, and Legolas pushed it off, landing gracefully behind her. Then, with strong strokes, he paddled to catch up with the others.

A great excitement stole over Nimoë. Here she was, casting off on the greatest quest of the age. She was to help save Middle Earth from destruction. And her companions were the most valiant of men.


	3. The Great River

Soon the companions had joined the great river Anduin, their boats traveling swiftly on the rushing current. As they passed out of Lothlorien, a sense of doom began to settle over them, for they were no longer within the safety of the realm of Galadriel. The silence grew cumbersome and Nimoë broached it, asking, "Master Gimli, Master Legolas, tell me of your journey from Rivendell. How came you to pass through the dreaded halls of Khazad-dum? Surely the high pass of Caradhras would have been the safer route?"

Legolas replied, "So it would have seemed. We did toil high upon the mountain pass. Almost did we cross, but we were set upon by an evil wind. Snow blew fierce against us, blown forth from Orthanc. Gandalf thought that he might be able to stop it, but then a blast of lightning brought down an avalanche upon us. It was decided then that we must brave the dark mountain halls. It was a struggle even then to retreat from the high places of Caradhras, for the snow was piled so deeply that it reached over the heads even of the Men."

At this, Gimli harrumphed. "Struggle? That's nice, coming from an Elf. You who can simply tread upon snow as if it were the most solid of stone. I'll say it was a struggle. We burrowed our way out. There did the perseverance of the Dwarves shine clearly."

Legolas' laugh was like the sounding of deep bells. "Indeed, you did well, Master Gimli. If not for your perseverance and the strength of Aragorn and Boromir, the fellowship may well have frozen on that pass."

"Well, that's more like it," the Dwarf replied, somewhat mollified.

"So you made your way to the halls of Balin, son of Fundin?" Nimoë prompted.

"Alas, for Balin, son of Fundin," spoke Legolas, "His passing, and the doom of the Dwarves of Moria, will be sung in songs of valor. Against the evil that lurked in the deep places, they stood no chance." Nimoë felt a shudder run through the Elf behind her. "I wish that I had never set foot in that cursed place. I cannot relate to you the things which befell us there. The grief is still to near."

Gimli then spoke again, "Indeed, the Mines of Moria have been consumed by darkness. Still, I am glad to have looked upon the great city of my people. Surely, sir Elf, you cannot deny the beauty of the stones there?"

"I know only that within the Mines I was separated from the bright sunlight. The air was stagnant, and the stone was hard beneath my feet. Rather would I spend my days among the trees and flowers of the forest. Do you not agree, Nimrodel?"

Nimoë nodded in understanding. "Only when I am among the growing things of nature can I feel truly happy. Master Gimli, may I sing for you a song, of the beauteous things in the world?"

Gimli's tone was gruff as he replied, "I do not see how I can stop you."

And so Nimoë began to sing. Her voice was deep and melodious, and within the word of the song, she began to weave her spell.

"_Moonlight in the evening, sunlight in the day, starlight in the deepest hours, will ever guide my way._

"_On I tread beneath the trees: the rowan and the pine, the cedar and the hawthorn sharp, the willow and the vine._

"_Swiftly flowing rivers, glide onward towards the sea, homeward they are beckoning, their voices call to me._

"_Still I must venture onward, I cannot see to where. The future it is clouded, like a mist upon the air._

"_So moonlight in the evening, sunlight in the day, and starlight in the deepest hours, still guide me on my way."_

The Elven prince and the sturdy Dwarf felt strangely buoyed by the song of the mysterious Nimrodel. Surely they would be successful in their quest. All of nature was there to aid them, to shed light upon their path. They were surrounded by companions brave and true. They could not fail.

"Not a bad song as such things go," muttered the Dwarf, under his breath.

Nimoë allowed herself a secret smile. Galadriel's training had served her well. The song had been imbued with more than words of comfort. Threads of magic wove through the melody and the harmonies it implied. Threads which tightened the cords binding these men together. Those threads, when added to others, would form a web of trust and friendship stronger even than would grow naturally. And Nimoë could sense that for all of their sparring, these two companions were already well on their way to a lasting friendship.

#

Hours later a thundering pounded in the air and Nimoë felt fear stir in her heart. What could cause such a tremendous roar? "What is that sound, Master Legolas?"

"It is the rapids of Sarn Gebir. Soon we must come ashore. We will have to make a portage around them."

Ahead of them, Aragorn and Boromir beached their boats and the hobbits crept out onto dry land. Legolas skillfully brought his own boat up to the shore next to them. Gimli, who was seated in the front, hopped out and dragged the boat farther onto the shore. Nimoë stepped carefully out onto the bank and awaited instruction.

The forest was close about them and, while the smells were fresh and wet from the river, it seemed as though an unseen presence was watching them. Nimoë fought the urge to glance behind her, knowing that nothing was truly there, for she did wish to appear foolish. Surely these men must be used to the sensation of wrongness which dogged their steps.

Aragorn, pointed to the packs and gear and said, "Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin, you must carry these things. The boats, I am afraid are too heavy for you. Legolas, Nimrodel, Gimli, Boromir and myself will carry those."

"I will prove to you now the strength of a Dwarf," spoke Gimli. "Since there are five of us, let me be the one to take a boat on my own. Not so heavy a weight it will seem to me."

Aragorn nodded, "As you wish, Master Gimli. Boromir and I will take one boat, and Legolas and Nimrodel the remaining. Let us be quick about it. Time is precious."

Nimoë approached the bow of the boat and waited for Legolas to give her the command to lift. When it came, she bent all of her strength to it and managed to loft the ship over her head. Nearly did she stagger under the weight of it, but she managed to maintain her footing and did not stumble. "I am ready, Legolas."

They moved into line behind the four Hobbits, carefully watching their footing as they followed the steep path downwards toward the end of the rapids. In the beginning, Nimoë had been pleased to find that she could lift the boat at all. Soon, however, the boat began to weigh heavily upon her shoulders and the muscles in her legs screamed in agony. Refusing to utter a complaint, she forced herself onward.

Without warning, she made a slight misstep. Her foot had not been lifted high enough to clear a root which rose out of the middle of the path, and she stumbled dramatically. She was able to catch her footing, however, before she crashed to the ground with the heavy boat on top of her. Still, Legolas called down to her in concern, "Nimrodel, are you well?"

It seemed the time had come for a half-truth. "I am afraid I have spent much of my life in the study of spiritual things. My physical pursuits have been few. Alas, it seems that I am not as strong as I might wish."

"I understand. Fear not. There is nothing to bring one into form quite like immersing oneself in strenuous work. Although you will suffer for a while, it will be a brief enough time before you can toil as well as the rest of us."

There was truth in his statement, but Nimoë did not relish the period of pain that she would go through. Still she smiled as she replied, "Do not fear, Master Legolas, I shall not hold you back."

#

Finally they reached the end of the portage. Gimli set down the boat he had carried and came to aid Legolas and Nimoë in settling theirs to the ground. The sturdy Dwarf reached high and took the weight of the bow from Nimoë, who was visibly bent from it, then he and Legolas let the boat gently down.

Nimoë sighed and walked slightly apart from the others, massaging her neck and shoulder muscles, hoping to relieve some of the pain that was gathering there. She walked slowly, but steadily, away from the group, lost for the moment in the contemplation of her soreness.

"Regretting your choice, Master Nimrodel?" came a voice behind her and she nearly jumped into the river in her shock.

She spun around and there was Boromir. He had a sardonic grin upon his face, and Nimoë found that she did not feel at ease with him, as she had with the other members of the fellowship. "No, Boromir. I do not regret it, although sorely do I regret all of the time spent in study, when I might have found it of more use had I engaged in physical activity."

Boromir reached out his hand and turned her by the shoulder so that she was facing away from him. She watched out of the corner of her eye as his hands reached up towards her neck. Hastily she brought her own hands down out of his sight, afraid that he might notice their femininity. She quashed the sensation that he might be reaching out to strangle her, and was pleasantly relieved when his strong fingers began to work into the tight muscles of her neck, shoulders and back.

"The least that I can do is help ease the pain which you suffer. You have given up much to accompany us. But what is it that made you choose to come along on our journey? I think that the Lady of the Wood would not have sent you if you had objected. There must be some urgent need, known only to the Lady and to yourself."

A frisson of fear ran up Nimoë's spine and she forced herself not to shiver under his question and his touch. There was a current of tense laughter in her voice as she replied, "Is this not the most important quest of the age? Would not any Elf of good heart leap at the chance to render aid?"

His fingers dug into her neck then, pinching close around her spine. "And just what sort of aid do you offer, Elf? I am afraid that I am not clear on that point."

Rather desperately, Nimoë began to glance out from under her hood, hoping to see some other soul coming to speak with them, to distract this very imposing man from his pointed and uncomfortable questions. "Did not Lady Galadriel say? I am to offer you the aid of nature, in what little ways I can bend it."

With his fingers squeezing ever tighter around her neck, he bent his head close to her ear, and she felt her knees begin to buckle from the pressure of his presence and his grip. Softly, but with a core of ice, he whispered, "And just how is that, Elf?"

Nimoë thought that she would faint from fear, as the poison of his suspicions washed over her in waves. She struggled vainly to escape from his clutch, but found that his fingers pressed onto some nerve which rendered her legs and arms immobile. She had just drawn breath to shout when the voice of Legolas greeted her ears, and her heart began to beat more freely.

#

"There you are, Nimrodel. And you also, Boromir," Legolas spoke, as he approached them. His keen glance took in the scene before him and a cold fear passed over his heart. Something was amiss here, and he did not understand it. The Elf Nimrodel stood as if he was terribly frightened, and Boromir towered over him, his regal presence seemingly more terrible than was his wont. Unsure of what to make of what he saw, Legolas spoke, "It is time to proceed. Aragorn and the others are waiting."

Boromir dropped his hands from Nimoë's neck, and she sprung forward away from him, control finally restored to her limbs. In her haste she stumbled over her own feet and fell headlong into Legolas, who caught her close to keep her from crashing to the earth. Hastily she pushed herself out of his grasp and mumbled her thanks, then walked as fast as her legs would carry her back to the waiting boats.

Legolas was troubled. How light Nimrodel had been with his grasp. How slender and slight. Even for an Elf he was small, almost frail, and the top of his head just reached his own shoulder. How would he manage to keep up with them on this journey? He sighed and shook his head. "Are you coming, Boromir?"

The usual look of patient condescension had dropped back down over Boromir, and Legolas shook away the sense of unease that had come over him when he had first set eyes upon him. At that time, it was as if something foreign had taken control of the son of the Steward of Gondor. He must have been mistaken.

"I follow behind you, Legolas."

#

At the shore, Aragorn had already loaded Frodo and Sam into his boat, while Merry and Pippin waited for Boromir. Gimli stood impatiently at the stern of the third boat, tapping his toe in irritation at the delay. Seeing that the boats were already prepared, Nimoë saw that she would indeed ride again with the Elf and the Dwarf. In a way she was relieved. She had hoped to join Boromir, to begin to work her magic upon him, but after their recent encounter, she was afraid that the sickness which swept over him might have already taken too strong a hold for her to affect it.

Gimli scrambled into the boat when he saw the other three approaching, and Nimoë clambered in after him. Legolas pushed off from the bank, leaping gracefully into the boat behind them. With swift, sure strokes, he followed Aragorn off down the river. Boromir and the two little Hobbits were close behind.

Nimoë sat straight in the boat, unable to relax her body. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Boromir's boat approaching. Softly she began to sing, sending out tendrils of power his direction. All of her thought she concentrated into the forming of the words of power.

When the backlash came, it caught her completely by surprise. All of the strength and energy she had sent at Boromir came back against her, just as strongly, but without any direction. Almost was she knocked over backwards, and only managed to save herself by her quick, firm grip on the gunwales of the boat, and a terrible, sickening wave of nausea swept over her.

It can't be! Her mind cried out in despair. It can't be that he is already beyond my reach! Do not let me fail!

She glanced out from under her hood and saw Boromir close by, staring at her as if he could see straight through the heavy fabric of her cloak and hood. As if he knew her secret. As if he knew that she had come to tame his heart, and that she had failed.


	4. Orcs!

Legolas watched as Nimrodel swayed, and made ready to catch him again if he fell. What strange thing was happening under his very nose? The Elf caught himself on the gunwales of the boat, and Legolas relaxed slightly. Something was not right. This Elf was clearly not what he seemed. And he meant to find out what it was that did not ring true.

Unable to calm the stirrings of nausea rising up in her, Nimoë tried to focus on those things around her which were still pure: the river, with its sparkling blue water, the ancient trees growing along its banks, and the two who shared her boat. The Elf and the Dwarf were patently pure of heart and she took comfort in their presence. She drew deep, cleansing breaths into her body, and finally the wave of sickness settled back into the pit of her stomach, away from her throat.

Gimli began to sing under his breath, a song of the dwarves of old. The rhythmic cadence called forth images of hammer and chisel, delving into the hard, deep places of earth. Nimoë allowed the gentle rocking of the boat and the hypnotic beat of Gimli's song lull her.

Her eyes flew open as her name was spoken. "Nimrodel, won't you tell me of your time in Lothlorien? It far surpasses even my home in Mirkwood in its loveliness."

"Indeed it does, Master Legolas. I know this well, for I did come from Mirkwood as well. I grew there for the first years of my life. As I grew it became evident that I had a power surpassing that of those around me. My parents decided to send me to Galadriel, in the hopes that she could train me. I have spent many years now with the Lady. There is much that she has taught me. Yet I still have much to learn. Her knowledge is vast."

Legolas latched onto one comment and tried to follow the path it would lead. The strange Elf was suffering, and he did not understand why, but he felt a strong compulsion to ease away the hurt, if he could. "You are also from Mirkwood? Who are your parents? Perhaps I know them."

Nimoë paused before answering. Surely there was no way that the Prince of Mirkwood would know her parents. Despite the fact that her father was a skilled healer, they lived far from any city, immersed in the study of different trees, how they live and how they die. It could not hurt to be truthful. "Their names are Naldor and Glorfiane" Her voice reflected regret at the time spent apart from the two who had brought her into the world. "I miss them."

"I am certain that they miss you as well, Nimrodel." Legolas then slipped into a troubled silence.

#

Some time later, a shout rose from Aragorn in the boat ahead of them, "Behold the Argonath! Long have I desired to look upon the likenesses of my sires of old!"

Nimoë raised her eyes and her heart fluttered in awe at the monumental statues of the ancient kings. Stories told of the Argonath did not begin to impart the sheer power and majesty of the pillars. She bowed her head in homage before the statues, which stood with their palms upraised.

"Now that is stonework that must please even you, Legolas," Gimli growled.

The sonorous voice behind her was filled with joy at the sight. "Never have I seen such a true melding of natural beauty and monumental masonry. Indeed, Gimli, I will not challenge you. I am dumbstruck."

They passed between the pillars and onto Nen Hithoel, the waters of the lake strangely calm after the rushing river. Legolas paddled smoothly and surely and they crossed the lake with all due speed. Upon reaching the far shore, nigh unto the dramatic falls at the southern end of the lake, they once again pulled the boats onto the shore. Gear was unloaded and they began to make ready to camp for the night.

Nimoë looked about her, hoping to find Boromir, having worked up the courage to try once again to reach him with the words of power. When she did not see him, she spoke, "Where is Boromir?", precisely at the same time that Merry asked, "Where is Frodo?"

The remaining companions looked at each other with some trepidation on their faces. Aragorn spoke, "We must find Frodo. If he were to come to harm, all our toil would be for naught. I will go to the top of the hill. The rest of you, stay near to one another, and see what you can find." Then he ran off up the hill.

Legolas looked at Nimoë with a peculiar expression on his face. "Nimrodel, you should stay close to me. If your training is in the more peaceful arts, you should remain with a fighter. Do not stray."

Nimoë was relieved that she had an excuse now to stay close to someone with a weapon and the knowledge of how to wield it. She carried with her a short sword, but was painfully inept in its use. "I will remain at your side, Legolas."

He nodded. "Then come." They ran off at an angle less steep than that followed by Aragorn. The Hobbits had disappeared at the same time as Aragorn, but Gimli was not far ahead and they soon caught up to him on their faster Elven feet.

As they ran, a dark presence began to intrude into Nimoë's thoughts. "I feel something is approaching. It is something of great evil."

"Orcs. Be ready to fight, I can feel them coming nearer as well," replied Legolas.

"Fine time to be separated. Where is Frodo? Where are the others? We should stand together!"

"Fear not, Gimli," said Legolas. "We shall find them soon enough. Listen for the clash of steel." As he ran, he pulled his bow into his hand and kept his gaze trained on the surrounding woods.

Nimoë's fingers strayed to the hilt of her sword. The steel felt cold in her hand, and the chill seemed to seep through her skin into her body, freezing her heart with fear. Everything was going wrong. Dread filled her as she realized Boromir had most likely already attempted to take the ring from Frodo. Her only mission was to keep the fellowship together, and it appeared that she had failed. Orcs were approaching and she would likely be killed. She was wise enough to know that as an untrained fighter she was sorely outclassed by any orc.

Still she ran on, hoping against hope that her fears were for naught. Then sounds of fighting broke out from the hilltop. Legolas cried out, "Gimli! To the top! We are beset!"

Nimoë crashed up the slope behind Legolas, and ahead of the Dwarf. When they crested the hill, she was horror-struck to see the hordes of orcs, pressing hard against Aragorn, who stood alone against them. Gimli let out a battle cry and waded into the fray, his axe swinging in killing strokes. The bow of Legolas sang and orc after orc fell, pierced by the deadly rain of arrows.

Nimoë drew her sword as she was faced by three orcs, their twisted features crazed with battle fervor. Swinging wildly she repelled their first attack, her lack of skill made up for by her very real fear for her life. She swung at the nearest orc and through blind luck caught it high on its sword arm. It fell back howling. The two remaining orcs closed in on her. She backed away until she ran up against a wall of the ruins. Again she raised the sword, but the quarters were now too close to allow her to swing with force.

"Nimrodel!"

Before she could look for Legolas, who had shouted her name, the two orcs crashed down in front her, arrows lodged in their skulls. Legolas ran towards her and took up a place between herself and the onrushing orcs. With frightening skill, he decimated the orcs who came against him. His bow was a harbinger of death as his arrows slaughtered those which chose to attack.

Nimoë saw that his quiver was emptying quickly and she ducked out from behind him, yanking arrows from the dead bodies of orcs piling around her. Those which were still in one piece she dropped back into his quiver as rapidly as she could. It seemed the best way she could contribute to their defense.

Just as the tide was beginning to turn, clear notes sounded loudly upon the air. "The horn of Boromir!" cried Aragorn. "He is in need!"

Without pausing to think, all four companions ran towards the clarion call.


	5. The Passing of Boromir

Nimoë flew through the trees. The forest was crawling with orcs, but she was able to outdistance them on her lighter feet. Again Boromir's horn sounded, more frantically this time. How could he have gotten so far away? Surely Frodo must be with him. They had to reach them before the ring could be taken from the halfling!

"Nimrodel, stay close to me!" called Legolas, who had gained ground ahead of her. She put on a burst of speed and caught up with the fleet-footed Elf prince. Although they both were ready for an attack, the orcs seemed to be dissipating. Only a few even glanced their way, and those were quickly felled by Elf arrows.

Legolas reached the top of a ridge, and stopped so abruptly that Nimoë ran straight into him. She recoiled off of his back, but caught her balance with the customary speed of her race. What she saw made her feel as if she wanted to sink to her knees and cry out in anguish.

Boromir lay on the ground, his body pierced through with many orc arrows. Aragorn was knelt over him, gripping his hand, offering his strength to the dying man. Their voices were low, and she had to strain even her acute hearing to follow the conversation.

Boromir had tried to take the ring. There was no surprise in that. Nimoë had failed in her task. The two young hobbits had been taken by orcs.

Boromir's face was anguished as he spoke of his failure. Aragorn did his best to reassure him. "You fought bravely. You have retained your honor."

"I would have followed you, my brother. My captain. My King." Then Boromir breathed no longer.

Gimli came up behind Nimoë, and dropped his head in deference to the passing of a brave man and true friend. Tears streaked down her face and she dashed them aside angrily. It was not the time for sorrow. It was the time for action.

Aragorn looked up and saw the three companions watching him. He rose to face them. "We must act quickly. We have not the time, nor the tools, to properly bury Boromir. Let us set him in a boat with his weapons, and those of his vanquished foes, and deliver him to the Falls of Rauros. Then he shall make his way down the Anduin to his home in Gondor. Quickly now."

Broken out of the paralysis of grief, Legolas and Gimli went to aid Aragorn in lifting Boromir, while Nimoë gathered up the weapons of the orcs scattered around where Boromir had died. They went quickly to the place where they had left the boats, such a very short time before.

The body of the son of the Steward of Gondor was laid with grave honor into a boat, and about him were the weapons of those he had slain. The four companions bent their heads in silence for a moment, then Aragorn pushed the boat out into the waters. They watched until the small craft plummeted over the roaring falls.

All during that time, Nimoë's mind was spinning. Her failure was complete. How was she to return to Galadriel to report that all of her magic had not been enough? Already the taint of the ring upon him had been too strong. She had proven herself unworthy of the task placed upon her, and the crushing weight of her failure threatened to bring her to her knees. Her weakness could bring about the downfall of Middle-Earth.

Still a small voice spoke in her mind reminding her that he had not taken the ring. He had repented for what he had done, and he had bought freedom from his treason by protecting the others with his very life. He had been strong enough to master some small part of himself, and in doing so had come to an honorable end.

Gimli's voice broke into her thoughts as he said, "There should be another boat here. Where are Frodo and Sam?"

Legolas looked out over the lake and saw a boat pulling up on the opposite shore. "They have left us. They have already reached the eastern shore! Hurry. We must follow them."

Aragorn laid his hand on Legolas' upraised arm. "No, friend. They have chosen their path. Perhaps it may be the wisest to let them follow it. No truer friends are there than Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee. Each shall not allow the other to falter or to fail. I believe I can safely say that nothing could happen to Frodo while Sam is there with him. As to the other Hobbits, they are in the hands of the enemy. We shall not leave them to their fate. Leave behind all that is not a necessity. We shall travel lightly."

As Nimoë pulled items out of her sack, she thought frantically. Her failure was complete, and there was no way to undo it. Was there any way to redeem herself? Her head dropped unconsciously into her hands and she was on the brink of tears again, humiliated by her inability to perform one small task.

While the other two were distracted by packing themselves for the journey, Legolas approached Nimoë. He laid his hand softly on her shoulder. "Nimrodel, I would speak with you."

Quickly she raised her head out of her hands, but kept her face lowered so that he could not see within the folds of her hood. "What is it, Master Legolas?"

"I do not know your true name, but I know that you are not who you claim. Naldor and Glorfiane are performing studies at the request of my family. I have visited with them often. They have no son. Only a daughter. She was sent to Galadriel for teaching. A very talented girl-child I have been told. I think that her parents would not wish for harm to come to her."

Shock registered in Nimoë's mind, disbelief that she had unwittingly given herself away. She backed away from Legolas, afraid of what he would do with his knowledge.

He raised his hand to stay her flight. "It is not safe for you to return to Lothlorien. Orcs have positioned themselves between here and there. You can feel them, if you listen to the dark sensations in your mind. While our own road is surely dangerous as well, I wish you would come with us. I would not like to tell your parents that I let you face death alone." Legolas reached out and pushed the hood of her cloak back far enough to see her tear streaked face.

"I… I don't know what to say. I would be a burden to you. I cannot fight. You have seen that well enough."

"Your training is in the peaceful arts, but I am certain that something you learned can aid us. We will be traveling far and fast."

Her grey eyes lit up. "I do know an enchantment which can give people stamina beyond their natural limits."

The smile Legolas bestowed upon her was enough to raise her spirits. "Surely we will be able to make use of that. Please come with us."

She nodded her head in acknowledgement. "I will."

Legolas gazed down at her face, which was beautiful, like all of his kindred, but instead of the cold, harsh loveliness common among them, her face was open, with large, trusting eyes and skin so pale it seemed almost translucent. So young she seemed. So young and innocent. "Nimrodel, I will keep your secret if you wish it, but please, may I know your true name?"

A wave of shyness swept over her, and she averted her eyes from his as she replied, "My name is Nimoë."


	6. The Chase

"Legolas! Nimrodel! Are you ready?" called Aragorn.

Legolas dropped the hood of Nimoë's cloak back over her head, again disguising her feminine features. "We are, Aragorn. Lead us onward."

Hidden behind her cloak, Nimoë allowed herself to examine her emotions more closely. She should be upset that a member of the fellowship had discovered her deception. Yet she found that after her first terrible shock, her primary feeling was one of relief. Legolas had not rejected her out of hand once he discovered her sex. In fact, he had asked her to remain. True, a part of that was his feeling of responsibility towards her, for the sake of her parents, but another part was that she truly did have something to contribute.

She had not allowed herself to think beyond what Galadriel had sent her to do, to keep the fellowship whole. Her failure was complete. Still, there were ways she could continue to aid what was left of the group. As they ran, she began to weave bonds of sustaining energy around them, drawing on the power of the trees and other living things which they passed. There was enough to spare, and the companions were in great need.

Onward they ranged, spurred forth both by their desire to free the young hobbits from their captors, and their more primal urge to decimate those who had killed their friend, the valiant Boromir. Aragorn led the way, his eyes intent on the path. Truly, following the orcs was not a difficult task, for they left little alive in their wake. The swath of destruction trailed onward as far as even Nimoë and Legolas' elven eyes could see.

Yet Aragorn watched intently for any small thing which might speak to what had happened to Pippin and Merry. The lembas, which Galadriel had sent with them, was greatly appreciated, for they could eat it without having to pause in their pursuit. Nimoë felt as if her legs were made of molten metal, burning with fatigue, and soft enough to bend with her weight. Her years living in Lothlorien had made her soft, and bitterly she regretted the lack of exercise which had characterized her life.

If not for the power of her own magic, she knew that she could not have followed the company. They would far outdistance her. Still, even though they were in the peak of condition, they tired as they ran, and the added power of Nimoë's song spurred them forward.

In a haze of exhaustion, Nimoë almost ran over Gimli when he pulled up abruptly in front of her. Aragorn had raised his arm in a gesture of command, and then began to circle slowly around a patch of ground, which to Nimoë looked no different from any other span of orc-twisted earth. He peered at it intently, then walked away from the wide expanse of the orc trail, as if following clearly dropped bread-crumbs.

Not far had he strayed from the path, when he let out a cry and fell to his knees. The others quickly joined him. "What is it, Aragorn?" asked Gimli.

Aragorn raised his hand to them, so that all could see what lay in his upturned palm. Legolas' voice was tinged with wonder as he spoke, "The clasp from a cloak of Lothlorien. Do you think that it was left here by one of our friends?"

"The footprints I followed were not made by any orc. At a guess I would say it was Pippin, for he is smaller than the other."

Nimoë spoke then, "Aragorn, give me the clasp."

He handed it to her without question. Once the clasp was in her grasp, she reached deep into its core. The jovial, sparkling light that was Pippin radiated from it. Nimoë was almost knocked off of her feet by the strength of character that assailed her.

Legolas' hand at her back steadied her as she swayed. "Nimrodel?"

"It is indeed Pippin's clasp. What strength and courage lies within him! He has dropped this in the hopes that it would lead us down the right path. He has not given up his faith in his companions."

Aragorn rose from the ground with renewed purpose. "You lighten my heart, Nimrodel. Let us make haste, and prove ourselves worthy of our good friend's faith."

On they ran, each wrapped in their own thoughts. The effort of talking was too much. Nimoë alone gave voice to song, and that because it sustained them.

While the companions felt that they must run until such time as they caught up to the orcs, nature drew the curtains of night down inexorably upon them. After some debate as to the merits of continuing on through the night, or stopping so as not to miss any other important details in the dark, it was decided that the chance of missing something of the magnitude of Pippin's clasp was too great. They must stop.

Nimoë allowed herself to collapse to the earth, and was asleep almost before she could place her pack under her head for a pillow. Her slow even breathing told Legolas that she slept. Before he could lay himself down, Aragorn spoke to him. "I am concerned about Nimrodel. He is not as strong as the rest of us. You are of his race. Do you think that he can maintain the pace?"

Legolas brought to mind his momentary glimpse of Nimoë's gentle face. So soft and fair, yet full of resolve. "He will do what he must. Did you not feel the effect of his song today?"

"What do you mean?"

"Nimrodel has been drawing energy from the earth around us, using it to supplement our strength. He is using the same spell on himself. I think that by the time the spell can no longer aid him, he will have worked himself into something approaching our level of strength. Fear not. He will not slow our pace."

Aragorn paused thoughtfully. "You are right. I did feel strangely powerful today. I hope that you are right about our new companion as well."

Legolas laid his hand on Aragorn's arm. "Let me worry about Nimrodel. If he falters, I will take responsibility."

"Why is it that you would do such a thing? What is there about him that makes him so important to you?"

Legolas dropped his eyes. "I cannot tell you. Suffice it to say that he is one of my race, and his home is in my kingdom of Mirkwood. He is my subject, and I will not abandon him."

Nodding his head in acknowledgement of that responsibility, Aragorn dropped the subject. "Rest well then, Legolas. We rise with the sun."

Glad that Aragorn had accepted his explanation, Legolas sighed. Gimli was snoring, not far from where Nimoë slept, and Aragorn had laid himself down on the far side of Gimli. In the darkness, where none could see his actions, Legolas knelt quietly in front of Nimoë and carefully pushed back her cloak.

In sleep, her face was peaceful, relaxed and radiant. Legolas gazed down at her wonderingly. What a brave soul she was. As he was about to lower the cloak back down, her face crumpled. Her head began to rock back and forth, as if she was trying to shake herself free from the horrors in her mind, but her body was too exhausted to wake. Afraid that in her delirium, she might cry out, unintentionally revealing herself, Legolas laid down behind her and wrapped his arms around her, his hand stroking her forehead and her hair, murmuring quietly in her ear, "It's alright. Nothing can happen to you. We are all here with you. I promise, I won't let any harm come to you."

Slowly, her body stopped trembling in his arms and he knew that the terrible visions assailing her had abated. He dared not hold her through the night, as much as he felt she needed that reassurance, so he reluctantly released his embrace. But he did not move far, remaining close should she need him again. Then he slept.


	7. Rohan

They rose, even before the rising of the sun. All were refreshed by their short rest, and even Nimoë felt ready to begin the chase again. The muscles of her body were aching with the pain of too much use, but once they were moving again, the motion would work the kinks away. She raised her arms over her head, reaching out to the sky, greeting the awaking dawn.

"Do you call the sun to shine upon us, Master Nimrodel? Have you power over the weather?" Gimli asked in a gruff voice, somewhat sarcastically.

"Alas, not, sir Dwarf. Only do I greet the coming day, and enjoy the feeling of new life in the air."

"Hrmph."

Legolas laughed lightly. "Pay no attention to Gimli. He is often surly in the morning. He'll feel much better after sharpening his axe on some orc skulls."

"You speak truly, Legolas," the Dwarf agreed. "And I fear that those we hunt have not rested this past night. They will surely have lengthened their lead. We must make haste to follow them." Gimli looked to Aragorn. "Well, son of Arathorn?"

"Move out."

#

The trail stretched out clearly across the wide plains of Rohan. Nimoë felt strangely ill at ease. Almost all of her life had been spent surrounded by trees. Their wide branches shaded her, enfolding her not only with their ancient presence, but with their auras of eternal power and agelessness. The silvan Elves were always most at home among the trees and Nimoë's heightened awareness of the forces in the world around her made her own relationship with the forest even more intimate.

The vast expanse of sky above her, unbroken by a single branch, and the sprawling vistas of rolling hills served only to make Nimoë very nervous. There was less power here for her to draw on and she felt uneasy and vulnerable. There was no place to hide. Almost unconsciously she accelerated her pace, running to close the gap between herself and Legolas who ahead of her.

"Nimrodel, are you well?" he asked quietly.

The running left her out of breath and she responded with as few words as she could, "There are no trees. I am afraid."

Legolas nodded his blond head. "I understand. I feel it as well. The sense of wrongness will never leave you, but believe me, you learn to ignore it. Trust in your companions, we all have hearts as stout as the trees." He flashed her a reassuring smile. "There are no true or braver men than Aragorn and Gimli."

"Nor than Legolas, I believe." Nimoë immediately fell silent. Her eyes scanned the horizon restlessly. "Legolas, what is that cloud that floats close to the earth?"

He peered where she pointed. "That is not a cloud." Then he called out to Aragorn, "There are horses and riders ahead of us. They are coming this way."

"Do they follow the orc trail?" asked Aragorn.

"They do."

"How do we know if they be friend or foe?" Gimli asked.

"We cannot know until they are upon us and we can regard them with clear eyes. Can you tell how many there are, Legolas?"

"I cannot say for certain, but they are a goodly number, more I think than we could easily vanquish." He replied.

Aragorn did not hesitate then. "We must hide. These riders may be men of Rohan, out to see what is crossing through their lands, or they could be forces of Mordor or of Isengard. It would be safest to remain out of sight until we can ascertain for certain. Can they see us yet?"

Legolas shook his head. "I do not believe so."

Nimoë was inclined to agree. An Elf herself, even she had not been able to identify what was causing the dust rising from the horses' hooves. Legolas' sight was keener than most any other Elf, and no other race could match the Elves' keen senses.

"Then up over that hill there. Do not let them see you."

They all scrambled to follow Aragorn's command. On the far side of the hill, they lay down flat against the grassy earth. Nimoë's heart pounded and her hand clenched spasmodically at the hilt of her sword. She could feel the thunder of the hoofs radiating up from the ground beneath her. Inexorably, the horsemen drew closer. Nimoë turned her head to the side, and was startled to find Legolas' face mere inches from her own.

Even though her face was deep in the shadow of her cloak, Legolas was able to see the fear glinting in her eyes. He gave her a half-sided smile, meant to lighten her spirits, while he himself hoped against hope that they would not have to fight. As the first wave of horsemen passed their hiding place, he kept his gaze firmly locked with Nimoë's, offering his strength to keep her fears at bay.

Nimoë recognized what the Elven prince was doing, but she did not fight it. Willingly she allowed herself to focus only on his piercing blue eyes. Within that gaze she was able to block out the rest of the world. As the massive steeds roared past, she was barely aware of their passage. All she could see was blue, deep and liquid. Almost she felt as if her whole body was bathed in blue light.

When most of the horsemen had passed by, Aragorn rose abruptly and called out, "What news from the north, Men of Rohan?"

Legolas' half-smile broadened to a grin of relief. Then he broke his gaze and leapt to his feet. The riders had drawn up abruptly, their steeds immediately responsive to their commands. One of the men, tall and broad, with long hair, gleaming with the light of the sun, called back to Aragorn, "Who are you, and what is your business here?"

By that time, Gimli and Nimoë had also risen from their hiding place. Gimli had not yet released his axe handle, and he stood with his knees bent, ready to fight if need be. Nimoë decided to follow his lead, and she tried to look imposing, drawing herself to her full height and resting her hand menacingly on her sword hilt.

"I am called Strider, and I am hunting orcs."

The blond giant laughed loudly. "Hunting orcs, indeed? I am afraid you are too late. We have already eliminated the orcs that created this eyesore on our fair country. But speak now truly, are you servants of Saruman, or the foul demon in Mordor? Strider is no fit name for a man."

"We are servants of the free people of Middle Earth. We have just come from Lothlorien, where we were equipped and sent forth by the Lady Galadriel. Our business is dire."

"Then the Lady of the Golden Wood does exist. I have heard that she is a wielder of terrible power. I would that she were but a myth. Such power must perforce be of great evil," spoke the blonde giant.

Both Gimli and Nimoë reacted immediately to this slight against the Lady. Gimli went to draw his axe, but Nimoë was faster and she leapt forward, reaching for her sword, enraged by the man's arrogant assumptions.

She was brought up short, however, when his reflexes proved very quick, and she found her neck up against the point of his long sword. "I suggest you stop where you are, or you will bitterly regret your rash behavior, sir," spoke the horseman.


	8. Partings

Looking down at the blade of cold steel poised to run her through, Nimoë cursed her foolhardiness. She dropped her hand from the hilt of her sword and raised both arms away from her body with her hands open, showing that she bore no other weapon, but she did not move to retreat, all too aware that the horseman could sever her head from her shoulders before she could move towards the protection of her companions.

Legolas' voice was cold behind her as he spoke, "He does not stand alone. If you move strike him, you will be dead yourself before you can complete the blow." His bow was drawn, with an arrow trained at the rider's head.

Gimli had also hefted his axe and he raised it menacingly. "How dare you to speak ill of the most wondrous of all creatures in this world. I will enjoy showing you the error of your ways with the sharp end of my axe."

Several of the men who rode with the blonde giant drew their own weapons and moved forward threateningly. Nimoë closed her eyes and waited for death to fall.

Things might have gone ill then, had not Aragorn leapt between the Elf and the Dwarf, pushing their weapons aside, crying, "Peace! Peace, we are not your enemies. If you had seen the things that we have seen, you would understand my friends' reaction to your words. I beg you, drop your swords and let us continue on our way. We have friends who were captives of the orcs you have slain. We must discover their fate."

Nimoë opened her eyes and watched as the sword at her throat dropped slowly away. Once it had reached the hip of its master, she leapt backwards, anxious only to be farther from cold death. In her haste, she stumbled over her own feet and toppled backward. Legolas moved to catch her, but was too far away. She crashed to the ground, her head flung backwards by the speed of her fall.

When she moved to rise, the hood of her cloak fell away, and in her shock at the impact of the fall, she did not realize what had happened. Legolas reached her side and offered his hand to help her rise, hoping to shield her from the eyes of the others. It was, however, too late.

The blonde rider almost choked in amazement. "A woman? I am set upon by a woman?! What sort of joke is this?"

Aragorn and Gimli were also regarding her with stunned expressions. Aragorn was the first to speak. "Nimrodel, what witchery is this? Surely Galadriel did not send a woman on this perilous quest?"

Anxious to distract attention from herself, Nimoë replied, "This is not the time to discuss it. We must find out what has happened to poor Pippin and Merry, and these men here still have reservations as to our motivation. I am sure that they have good reason to be suspicious of us. Their lands are so close to Isengard that surely they must keep ever vigilant."

Again the rider spoke. "This lady has the right of it. Now that I see you travel with a woman, though, I believe you to be on the side of good. Neither the servants of the Dark Lord, nor Saruman, would be so foolish. I am Eomer, son of Eomund, Third Marshal of Riddermark."

Aragorn finally tore his stern gaze from Nimoë, who was trying to hide behind Legolas. "My rightful name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. I am heir to the kings of Gondor. Those whom I seek are Hobbits, Halflings from the Shire. Tell me, when you were killing orcs, did you see any of their ilk?"

Eomer shook his head. "Nay. All we saw were orcs, and all that we saw, we killed. We lost fifteen men and twelve horses. It was a black day."

"Do we have your permission to continue through your land? We are in great haste and cannot afford to lose more time."

Eomer considered Aragorn's request. "I give permission for you, the Dwarf and the male Elf to continue. I will even give you horses to speed you on your way. But I cannot allow the lady Elf to venture onward with you. The danger is too great. My own sister Eowyn is determined to fight the forces which come against us. Greatly do I fear for her safety, and I think that you would be also distracted by a woman among you. The urge to protect is often more overpowering than the dictates of common sense. She will come with us to the city of Edoras. I will keep her safe there until you come for her."

Nimoë sprung forward, hands outstretched beseechingly to Aragorn. "No, my lord! Please! Galadriel sent me to aid you in your quest. Have I ever once slowed you down? Have I not aided you in ways that no other could?"

Reluctantly Aragorn nodded. "It is true that you have been more an aid than a burden. I would not send you away, if the choice were mine. It seems, however, that you must accept the hospitality of the men of Rohan."

"Aragorn, no!" cried Legolas. "I fear more for her safety among these men that we do not know. At least when she is with us, I can keep her from harm! Who is to say what these riders may do?"

Aragorn cut Legolas short with a brisk slash of his hand. "Enough! The men of Rohan are honorable and I will not have you speak against them. Also, this is their land. They have the right to say what goes on here. If it is their wish that Nimrodel accompanies them, then so be it!"

Nimoë dropped her head in acknowledgement of Aragorn's decision. "Would that I could follow you, son of Arathorn. I would aid you in any way that I could, even unto my death. Still, I will go with the men of Rohan. Yet before I leave, I would have you know my true name. I am Nimoë, daughter of Naldor. I have had the honor of aiding the three men in Middle Earth of the strongest spirit, boldest souls, and most stalwart nature. I hope that when next we meet, you will be able to see me for who I am and what I offer, rather than as some mysterious enigma. I would show you my worth." She smiled then at Gimli, and for a long moment at Legolas, her nearest friend. "Now hurry. Take the horses and rescue Pippin and Merry. I will await the time when you will come to Edoras. I pray that it will not be long."

Men of Rohan began preparing horses for the three companions who would continue on. Aragorn offered his hand to Nimoë. "You are a brave woman, Nimoë. When the time comes, we will travel together again. I thank you for what you have given to us." He then leapt onto the back of the horse offered to him.

Legolas then stepped before her, concern writ plainly on his open features. "You will be alright?"

She smiled at him reassuringly. "Do not fear for me. Rather I shall worry about you until I see you again, for you are riding into danger. Go now, Legolas. The Hobbits are waiting."

Impulsively he took her head between his hands and bent forward, placing a kiss on her brow. "I will come for you."

"I know."

Then he also mounted a mighty steed. Gimli steadfastly refused to get onto the horse which was offered to him. "A dwarf does not ride a horse! I shall run, as I have this far."

Legolas offered him his hand. "Come up behind me, friend Gimli. Then I shall be the one riding the horse, and you can hold tight to my back. You will not fall."

Gimli harrumphed, but agreed, and was hoisted up and pushed from below onto the horse behind Legolas. As one the two horses turned, then galloped off down the orc trail.

Nimoë watched them go with regret. There was nothing she could do to change her path now, however, so she turned to Eomer. "Take me then to Edoras. I would like to meet this sister of yours."


	9. Edoras

Finduél, the horse to which Nimoë was led, was a full eighteen hands tall, burnished gold in color, and with a spirit that could not quite be restrained to a sedate trot. While she was by no means an experienced rider, she was glad that she had spent some time on horseback. She would not have been able to keep her seat, elsewhise.

There seemed to be little point now in hiding her gender, so she rode with her hair blowing free, enjoying the feeling of the fresh wind on her face. Eomer rode at her side, standing guard, lest she try to flee back to her companions. "Lady, will you not tell me more of what it is that brought you here to the land of Rohan?"

"Peace, Eomer. As I have told you each time you ask, it is not my place to tell you. My companions are engaged in a quest most urgent, and most secret. Unless they give me permission, I will not speak of it."

Eomer let out his breath in frustration. "You must understand, things are not well in my kingdom. My mother's-brother, King Theoden, listens only to the craven counsel of his advisor, Grima, whom all save him name Wormtongue. At his behest did King Theoden decree that no person shall travel free in the land of Rohan without first gaining permission from himself. I believe that your companion was indeed Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and that he undertakes a perilous quest, but this will not be enough to placate the King. I must know more, or things could go ill with me!"

Nimoë was not willing to turn her head too far to the side, as she was afraid she would fall from Finduél's broad back, but she put as much feeling into her words as she could manage, trying to express herself as clearly as she would have been able to had she been able to use her eyes to convey her meaning. "Lord Eomer, if you have placed yourself in danger by aiding Aragorn, I am sorry. Still, it was the best choice you could have made. If he succeeds, perhaps your land, as well as the rest of Middle-Earth, can be saved from the coming darkness. I sincerely hope that nothing ill will befall you, but I cannot speak more plainly. Only know that you are aiding the most important quest of this age. Surely that must be enough?"

Eomer muttered something under his breath, which sounded to Nimoë much like "Stubborn women!" and then he spurred his steed forward, to the front of the company. The set of his shoulders was that of a man sorely put upon, and she found that she pitied him, but did not regret her decision.

#

Several hours later, they approached the city of Edoras. The gates were barred, but on seeing Eomer, they were quickly flung wide. The company galloped through, then slowed, bringing their steeds into the stables, which were nigh unto the gates of the ancient city. They dismounted and turned the sweating beasts over to other Rohirrim, then most of the men departed for their homes.

Eomer beckoned to Nimoë and she followed him out of the stables and up the hill towards Meduseld, the great hall of King Theoden of the Mark. All along the path which climbed the hill were soldiers, standing at attention. They nodded to Eomer in greeting, but cast suspicious looks towards Nimoë. A cold feeling began to form at the back of her neck, and she started to wonder what she was getting into.

Finally they reached the gates of Meduseld. There they were greeted by a man of noble bearing, who spoke warmly to Eomer. "My Lord, it is good that you are returned. I fear that the King is even more troubled than before you left. The death of his son weighs heavily upon him, and still more closely does he follow the advice of Grima Wormtongue."

Eomer clasped the man about the shoulders and replied, "Hama, it is good to see you. Still, I am troubled by your tidings. I must see the king immediately. I have with me a woman who I found abroad in our lands, along with three men, one mortal, one Elf and one Dwarf."

Hama bowed to Nimoë. "An honor to greet you, my Lady." Then he turned again to Eomer. "Where then are her companions?"

"I let them go on their way, and I gave them horses."

Hama stared at him incredulously. "Truly? And you are coming to tell this news to the king? I fear that he will not take it well, and Wormtongue sits now beside him."

Resignedly, Eomer replied, "Because a thing will not be pleasant is not a good enough reason to put it off, if it needs doing. Please, go to the king and inform him of my coming."

"As you wish, my Lord."

When Hama was gone, Eomer turned to Nimoë. "It is as I feared. I will try to protect you from the wrath of Wormtongue, but the king is the king. I do not think that he would harm a woman, but he may try to take out some of his wrath for me on you."

"I am ready," she replied.

#

Shortly, Hama returned. "You may enter the hall. King Theoden is there, with Grima. Also your sister Eowyn stands in the hall, along with some other Marshals of the Riddermark." The two were about to pass him, when he reached out to stop Eomer. "I did not tell him about the lady and her companions. It is fit for you to do that. Whatever happens, know that many here will support you. Theoden is still king, but his mind is weakened by fell whisperings. You will not stand alone."

"Thank you, Hama."

#

Nimoë gazed around her in wonder at the hall of Meduseld. Tapestries adorned the walls, depicting the glorious history of Rohan. Eorl the Young was often shown, proud in his battle armor. After drawing her eyes from the walls, she looked to the front of the room.

There sat Theoden, King of Rohan. His hair and beard were the color of drifted snow, and long. He sat bent, as if the weight of the world were too heavy to bear. At his side was a man, unspectacular in any way, bent with his head near to the king's ear, whispering to him. Behind the throne stood a woman, clad in white, her golden hair falling in full waves to her waist. She gave a tight smile to Eomer, but her eyes bore the look of long suffering, and her muscles were tense with restrained fury.

Theoden spoke. "Eomer, sister-son, who is this that you bring unannounced into my hall?"

Eomer repeated what he had told to Hama at the gate. Theoden's eyes blazed at the telling of the tale. At the end of it, Grima whispered again into the king's ear.

Theoden nodded and addressed Nimoë. "What is your name, and where do you come from.?"

She took a step forward, and spoke. "I am Nimoë, daughter of Naldor, of Mirkwood. I am also apprentice to Lady Galadriel of the Golden Wood." She had to pause then, for there was a murmur of shock and surprise throughout the room. The lady behind the throne looked at her then, as if seeing her for the first time.

Grima leapt up then and cried, "A servant of the witch of the woods! What have you wrought upon us Eomer? She is dangerous. And her companions you have allowed to travel freely through Rohan, with our horses? Without the consent of your King? Much you have taken upon yourself."

Nimoë broke in on his ranting. "I tell you truly, master Grima, that my companions are the most honorable and valiant of men. They think only of the good of Middle-Earth. Eomer has chosen well."

Grima began to leap up and down. "Bind her mouth! An Elf-witch can make the minds of men stray where she wishes. She shall work her enchantments upon us all. Bind her!"

Three men advanced upon her, but Eomer stepped in front of her. "I gave this woman my protection. You shall not touch her."

Grima spoke again. "You are not King here! My Lord Theoden, you must heed my counsel. Have your men bind the Elf-witch, before she can work her evil upon us."

Theoden nodded. "You have the right of it. Obey me! Bind her!"

Eomer raised his sword. "Grima Wormtongue, if these men lay a hand on her, I will personally sever your scheming head from your pathetic body."

"Master?!" Wormtongue groveled back to Theoden.

"None shall threaten my most trusted advisor, not even you, sister-son." The King then addressed all the other marshals in the hall. "Take him prisoner! Put him in the dungeons. Bind the Elf-witch and gag her. Put her also in the dungeons. This is the will of your king!"

Faced with his own friends, set to take him prisoner, Eomer found he had not the heart to strike them. He faced Nimoë with regret in his eyes. "I have failed you. I am sorry. I pray that your companions will come quickly to Edoras. Mayhap they can protect you better than I." He turned then and surrendered.

Nimoë was grabbed roughly, her hands tied behind her back, and a gag stuffed into her mouth. Ungentle hand pulled her roughly from the throne room, and through her silent tears, the last thing she saw was Eowyn, the White Lady of Rohan, watching after her with cold steel in her eyes, although she thought that there was also pity.


	10. The Redemption of Theoden

**Author's Note: Okay… I know that there is very little of Nimoë or Legolas in this chapter, but trust me, I'm getting there. (VBG) Thanks so much for staying with me this far. I really appreciate all the wonderful reviews. (Reviews are GOOD THINGS!) So said, on with the story. **

#

Unable to offer more than a token resistance, Nimoë was hustled away from the throne room and forced down a long staircase. She lost track of how far down the stair wound, but with each step the earth seemed to close in around her. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, her captors stopped in front of an ancient iron door. It was drawn open and they thrust her forward through its maw.

With her arms bound, she could not catch herself as her momentum threw her down upon the hard earth. Her face and shoulder crashed hard, and the breath was momentarily crushed from her body. Stars swam before her eyes and she tried to gasp for air, but the gag in her mouth kept her from even that cold comfort.

The door was slammed shut and she vaguely heard the sound of a solid iron bar being placed across it. The marshals left, taking their torch with them and Nimoë was plunged into the most utter blackness she had ever experienced. It was as if the darkness was alive. It swirled ever closer in around her, smothering her like the breath of a Nazgul.

She stumbled to her feet and staggered toward the door, at least where she felt the door should be. With her back to the wall, her hands searched frantically for a handle, but there was none. Desperately she flung her body at the door, hoping against hope that it would open. Pain radiated out from her shoulder where it had slammed into the solid metal. Numbness swiftly followed the pain, and she collapsed onto the ground.

Only able to breathe the fetid air through her nose, Nimoë gathered what breath she could and began to wail. The sound was muffled by her gag, but she was unable to control it. Fear and pain were the only sensations she could feel. The Elf, trapped in the bowels of the earth, sat on the ground and rocked and wailed, and tried to gain control of her unreasoning terror.

#

Eomer had been taken to a dungeon on a level less deep than that where Nimoë was held. He was still the Third Marshal, and heir to the throne, after the death of Theoden's son, Theodred. There was light in his cell from a torch hung on the outside wall. He paced back and forth like a caged beast. Every so often he hit the wall for good measure.

Finally he gave up his pacing and threw himself down onto the ground in disgust. Just as he was putting his head down into his hands, he heard his sister's voice.

"Eomer?" she spoke, "Are you alright?"

He leapt to his feet and ran to the door, where there was a small opening. He could just make out the top of Eowyn's fair head. "I am locked away in my own hall. Of course I am not alright!" Then, remorsefully he apologized. "I am sorry. None of this is your fault. Tell me, Eowyn, how things have gotten so bad?"

There was a sigh from outside the door. "Much as you see. Wormtongue holds all the power. Since the death of Theodred, the king has been sorely troubled in mind, and it was easier for Grima to gain sway. Tell me truly, brother, was it Aragorn, son of Arathorn, that you met upon our plains?"

"I believe that to be true."

"His is a name of noble lineage. Would that I could meet a warrior so great. I fear that I will never be allowed to fight against the shadow. Though sorely do I wish that I could."

Eomer shook his head. Why would his sister not give up on her strange passion? "The Elf girl Nimoë was traveling with the great lord, in the guise of a man. He himself did not know until she was revealed after attacking me."

"Truly? Do you believe that she is an enchantress?"

"It may be that she is, but I do not believe her to be evil. If she were, then my company would not have been enough to stop her from decimating our numbers." The thought of the slender Elf maid leaping to the defense of her mistress made him laugh. A brave soul indeed, and inhumanly fair on top of it. Well, she was an Elf, so that was to be expected. The thought of her gagged and bound as he had last seen her galled him, and he said more soberly, "I hope that she is not treated too harshly."

"She has been cast into the deepest dungeon of the hall. Wormtongue is sorely frightened of her, and believes that as she is an Elf-witch, the best way to render her harmless is to bury her far beneath the earth, for such a thing an Elf cannot abide."

Very troubled was Eomer to hear of this, and he said as much to his sister. "Eowyn, can you do anything? Can you release her from her prison?"

"Alas, I cannot. The way is guarded."

"Then promise me this: when her companions reach the city, make certain that they know of her imprisonment. I believe them to be men strong enough to make Theoden reconsider."

"I will, my brother. I must go. The guard is returning. My time is done. My thoughts are with you." Then she left the cell, her thoughts bent on the three unknown men and their imminent arrival in Edoras. She hoped against hope that their coming would be the key to breaking the spell that had been cast over her king.

#

Several days passed and still no one came to Edoras. Eowyn bristled at the delay, and at the captivity of her brother. She made it a point to be in the Great Hall at any time that Theoden was present, to keep an eye on Wormtongue and his craven counsels. So it was that she was present when Hama came into the hall to say that four had come to the gates and wished speech with the king. They were Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, Gimli, son of Gloin, and most surprisingly, Gandalf, the wizard.

Grima immediately counseled that they should not be admitted, but with a surprising act of independence, Theoden stated that they should be sent in, without their weapons, be it only a staff. Eowyn felt her heart flutter at the thought of laying eyes on the Heir of Isildur. Her hand clenched upon the back of the throne so that her fingers were white.

After some delay, the four companions entered the hall. They were unarmed, but for Gandalf, who still retained his staff, although he leaned upon it heavily. The hall was but dimly lit, so Eowyn was not able to regard any of them fully.

"Hail Theoden, King of Rohan!" spoke Gandalf.

"I greet you, but I do not offer you welcome. Ever you come as the bearer of ill tidings, although nothing could be more ill than the death of my Theodred."

Grima then spoke, "Indeed, you shall be called Gandalf Stormcrow, for you are ever the bearer of ill news."

"The courtesy of your hall is faltering, Theoden. Do you not know who these are who come before you? There are few men more worthy in this world," replied Gandalf. "They travel with the favor of Galadriel of Lothlorien."

Grima leapt forward. "You see, they are in league with the Elf-witch of the Golden Wood!"

Eowyn then stood in awe as from the staff of the old wizard deep clouds and fire spread forth. It was an awesome sight, but she was not afraid. The voice of the wizard seemed to fill the entire hall as he spoke again. "Grima Wormtongue, too long has the king listened to your words. You should not speak of things you do not know."

Grima had backed away, and he cowered behind the throne. "His staff! Did I not tell you to forbid it? We are betrayed!"

Lightning spewed forth from the staff and Wormtongue lay stunned upon the floor. In short order had Gandalf then convinced Theoden to come forth into the sunlight, where he had not strayed in countless days. Eowyn went forth with them and there she beheld Aragorn for the first time in the fullness of light. Tall he was, and strong and her heart ached with the beauty of him. Yet she perceived that he regarded her only with pity for her long suffering.

"Theoden-King, you must now make use of all those who wish you well. You must release Eomer from his imprisonment," spoke Gandalf.

Theoden nodded. "Only did I imprison him for threatening death to Grima in my hall. It seems that he was only acting in my best interests." Then he addressed Hama. "Bring forth Eomer, my sister-son. I would speak with him in gentler time."

Eomer was brought forthwith and he offered his sword in service to his king. "It has ever been thine to command."

Then Theoden looked upon him with love in his eyes.

The Elven prince, who had grown impatient, then spoke. "Eomer? Where is Nimoë?"


	11. What Happened to Nimoe

A deep sense of dread filled Legolas as he watched Eomer's joyous face fall. "Eomer?"

The man of Rohan shook his head with deep regret. "When it was discovered that she was apprentice to Galadriel, she was taken prisoner. They gagged her, to keep her from speaking enchantments, then bound her hands, so that she could not remove the gag, and stashed her in the dungeons."

Dark fire began to burn within the Elven prince when he heard this. "And you allowed this to happen? She is a danger to no one. Send someone to release her immediately!"

Theoden nodded his agreement and Hama was dispatched to retrieve her from her imprisonment. "It seemed wisdom at the time," spoke the king.

Legolas bristled. "If she has come to any harm, Eomer of Rohan, I will wreak retribution on you. She was to be safe in your care."

Eomer raised his hands in his defense. "I tried, master Elf. I myself was taken prisoner while trying to protect her. You cannot put any retribution upon me worse than I have already suffered, knowing that I failed to keep her safe."

#

Nimoë had long since retreated into a state of semi-consciousness. The only way to take refuge from her suffering was to put her mind into another place. Images of forests, ancient and noble, crowded over her, while she retreated still more often into the memory of clear blue eyes, the color of the sky at morning, offering her comfort and protection.

Every so often she would rouse from her hypnotic state and again the fear would crash down on her. Her body reacted without volition, and she flung herself again and again against the walls of her confinement. Her wrists were bloodied with her efforts to free her hands and there were cuts on her face where she had tried to use the walls to free the gag from her mouth.

There had been no food and no water for the long days since she had been confined, and the resulting weakness left her mind spinning, detached from the rest of her body, which was just as well, as the pain and numbness of her injuries and bound arms could well have driven her mad.

She lay in a crumpled ball on the packed earth when light began to filter slowly into the cell. Soon after, the door was opened and a man entered. Vaguely she heard a muffled curse, as he knelt in front of her, gently lifting her shoulders. His hands reached behind her and loosened the ties of her gag. It was then pulled from her mouth and she enjoyed her first full breath in many days. It came out again as a broken sob, and her body fell forward against the man's shoulder as he brought out his knife and cut the rope binding her hands.

The man's voice was gentle when he spoke. "Can you stand, my lady? Can you walk?"

She raised her eyes to him and tried to speak, but all that came out was a croak.

"Well, let's just find out then." He put his hands under her arms and lifted her up. She swayed, but if she leaned up against him, was able to remain standing.

So it was that she half walked and was half carried up the long twisting stair, back into the light of the waking world. Only a small part of her mind was aware of what was happening. The other part was busy trying to remain upright, fighting against the dizziness, nausea and pain of blood returning slowly to her arms and hands.

They reached the Great Hall, and Hama brought her forward. Vaguely aware that she was in the presence of people of power, she tried to stand alone, to show the proper respect, but it was too much, and she crashed ungracefully to the stone floor.

#

Legolas looked at the crumpled pile on the ground and his heart turned over inside him. Blood and bruises covered her face and all other visible parts of her body. Her eyes were glazed and she was too weak even to support her slight weight.

"Nimoë!" he cried, and ran to her side, aware that Eomer also came to her aid.

With hands trembling in anger at what had been wrought on the innocent Elf maid, Legolas gently took her bloodied hand in his own. "Nimoë, it is Legolas. Do you hear me?"

Eomer also knelt beside her and moved to lift her up from her ground.

"Unhand her!" cried Legolas. "Do you not see what you have done?" He regarded her sunken features and unresponsive face. "Has no one given you food or drink, my lady?"

She tried again to speak and a small squeak emitted from her tortured throat. With a great effort, she managed to shake her head. Then her eyes rolled back and she fainted.

Legolas cradled her broken body to his chest, rocking her back and forth. He looked up at all those around, who were staring at them in consternation. There were unshed tears in his eyes as he pleaded with them, "Won't someone help her?"

Aragorn broke himself out of his temporary shock at seeing the valiant woman laid low. "Find a bed for her, Theoden-King. And lead me to your medicinal herbs. And above all, get her some water. It is a wonder that she is not dead."

Eomer again bent to lift her up and carry her to a bed, but his hand was stayed by the elven prince. Legolas looked at the horse-lord with cold death written in his eyes. "You will not touch her." Then he himself lifted her gently, cradling her head against his shoulder, and followed the man Hama as he led the way to a nearby room.

A solitary tear fell from Legolas' eye, though he felt as if he wanted to tear down the hall of Meduseld. It splashed against Nimoë's face and roused her momentarily from her faint. For the first time she looked up into his face and seemed to actually see who he was. A smile so faint that it was barely visible crossed her lips, and for the first time Legolas felt hope blossom, like a bud at morning, within his heart.

She fell quickly back into unconsciousness, but that glimmer of recognition had lightened his heart. He pulled her closer still against him, then laid her as gently as he could upon the bed he had been led to. Impatiently he paced back and forth as he awaited Aragorn. Surely a healer of his ability would be able to heal Nimoë. And thank all the Valar that they had arrived in Edoras before she had died of thirst and starvation.


	12. Aragorn, Legolas and Nimoe

Vaguely Nimoë recalled opening her eyes in the searing light of day. It seemed to her, in her confusion, that she had seen Prince Legolas, his eyes full of tears, regarding her. That could not be true. What need would Legolas have for tears? Surely she was only imagining it, as she had imagined his face so many other times before, in the horror of the cell. Yet it had seemed so very real… She could almost smell the warm scent of him, like spices and cedar, and the smell of Elf man, which was so uniquely his own.

Something brushed against her cheek and she shied away from it. She would not open her eyes to look, for she could not bear the living darkness, but surely it must be a rat, hidden away deep in the dungeon with her. She whimpered and tried to turn away.

Then she heard a voice, clear as the ringing of bells, yet deep and resonant as the sea. "Aragorn, she is waking."

Still not sure of what was real, she tried to roll away from the sound, afraid that the conjurings of her mind were finally taking control of her. Hands gripped her shoulders and she began to struggle.

"Nimoë. Nimoë! Please do not fight me. It is Legolas. You are safe. We have come for you. Nothing more can hurt you. Please open your eyes. Look at me, Nimoë. Please."

A dream! It had to be a dream. This could not be real. Gathering her little remaining strength, Nimoë lurched up from her back and tried to flee.

Strong arms encircled her and the voice cried out it a panic. "Aragorn, hurry! She is not in her right mind!"

Legolas held her tightly against his chest, pinning her arms close against him, afraid lest she would do herself more harm. His heart pounded erratically and he could hear his own pulse beating in his eardrums. Seeing Nimoë so frantic and hysterical was more terrifying to him than any battle he had ever faced.

Finally, just as Aragorn ran into the room, his hands laden with the plant which Legolas recognized as athelas, Nimoë's strength ran out and she lay quiescent, but sobbing uncontrollably, in his arms. He lifted frightened eyes to Aragorn's as he rocked her, stroking her hair and kissing her brow. "What am I to do?"

Aragorn regarded the stricken Elf with pity. "Hold her there. Soon she will recognize you, and I think that she will be less afraid in your arms than alone on the bed." He worked quickly, lighting a brazier and setting the athelas to boiling.

"How can she bear this, Aragorn? So many days confined. So many days without the light of the sun. Even in Moria I had the light of Gandalf's staff to light my way. I cannot imagine the agony she must have suffered."

The mortal lord looked at his friend with understanding. "I think that you must help her to bear it. Give her your strength to lean on. Her physical scars will be the least of her worries. She will heal from them. It is the trauma that she has suffered in her mind that worries me. When I knew her as Nimrodel, she was ever buoyant in spirit, quick with a song and a light word. I am afraid that this experience will taint her heart."

Unconsciously, Legolas pulled her tighter against him. "Anything I can do for her, I will. She is bravest maiden I have ever known. Do you know," Legolas asked with a hint of awe in his voice, "She does not even know how to wield a sword? And still she chose to journey with us, into the greatest danger facing this land, only to lend her aid. To sustain us in our struggles!"

"Some might call that foolishness."

Fire blazed behind Legolas' eyes. "Never! The Lady Galadriel chose to send her, and she had no hesitation in following her destiny, be it to her death. I will not hear you speak ill of her."

Aragorn raised his hand in apology. "Peace, master Elf! I meant no harm. I think that I need not fear for her if you are in her presence." Then he poured the water with the steeped herbs into a goblet. "Give her this. She must drink it all."

Gently, Legolas tilted her head back, and brought the goblet to her lips. He was concerned that through her sobbing he might have difficulty getting her to drink, but as the fumes wafted up to her she began to quiet, and she did not protest as he poured the warm liquid down her throat. When it was gone he handed the goblet back to Aragorn. "How long before we can see what effect it has?"

Aragorn gave him a half smile. "Not long, friend. I will leave you now. I think it best that only her closest companion be with her when she wakes." He walked halfway out the door, then turned back. "Be a rock for her Legolas. She needs security now more than anything." Then he left.

#

Nimoë began to feel something she had not felt for what seemed like an eternity. Warmth was seeping through her body. It began in the pit of her stomach and radiated out like the rays of the sun creeping over the earth at daybreak. Pains which she had managed to forget became real again, and she cried out, as she became aware of each individual injury. Then, as quickly as the pain had returned, it began to dull. A deep sense of peace washed over her and she finally allowed her body to relax.

"Nimoë," spoke a voice that was familiar to her, "Won't you open your eyes? I miss their color, like a cloud filled sky, with the sun filtering through. Will you not give me this one joy on a day filled with sorrow?"

Slowly she lifted her heavy lids and found herself gazing up at the face which had helped to sustain her through her torment. Timidly she spoke, as if afraid to break the spell of his presence. "Legolas?"

The smile which suffused his face as she recognized him and spoke his name was like the singing of the birds in the trees, a homecoming after long years parted. "Yes. I am here. You are safe."

A cloud passed over her and she spoke quickly, "Pippin? Merry? Are they safe?"

"Trust you to think first of your friends, when you yourself have been at death's door. We did not find them, but Gandalf assures us that they are in good hands."

She gazed at him in confusion. "Gandalf? But he has passed into shadow!"

Legolas lightly placed his finger over her lips, silencing her questions. "You must rest. You have suffered much."

Memories of her recent captivity flooded over her then, and her breath came in shallow gasps. Almost she cried out, but Legolas took her head between his hands and forced her to look at him. "Nimoë, I am here. The past is gone. There is only the future, and I will not leave your side. Ever. Until such time as you ask me to."

Lost within his eyes, pools of emotion, Nimoë could not help but believe him. Willingly she placed her trust in him, and even as she smiled weakly up at him, tears of relief fell from her eyes. "You are my rock, Legolas," she cried. "You are my strength."


	13. Plans

Even broader did he smile then. "A rock? You should be speaking to Gimli. Rather would I be likened to a mallorn tree, for I am deep-rooted and sturdy, and I have branches which can reach out and offer you shelter."

Nimoë was about to reply when she was interrupted by the arrival of Gandalf, who broke in saying, "Yes, yes. This is all very sentimental and enjoyable, I am sure, but the forces of the shadow wait for no one. I am afraid that our next course of action must be decided and quickly at that."

Legolas looked up at Gandalf in consternation. "So quickly, Gandalf?"

"Gandalf?" Nimoë asked quietly. "Is it true then? You have returned from realms never before seen by mortal eyes?"

He batted away her question with a wave of his hand. "True enough it would seem, as I am standing here in front of you. And you are Nimoë, Galadriel's apprentice. I don't mind telling you that you have placed me in quite a quandary."

"I am afraid that I do not understand you."

Gandalf seated himself on the bed, which Nimoë had so recently vacated. Gravely he regarded her, and chose his words with care, not wishing to distress her further than she already was. "When we set forth from Rivendell, there were nine. We journeyed far and suffered much. Now, as you know, we are all scattered to the winds, like so many leaves in the autumn. Frodo and Sam are the only members of our fellowship who still truly pursue the goal set forth by Elrond. I understand that Galadriel sent you to lend your aid to that quest.

"Our quest, however, must needs change. The ring has passed beyond our knowing, and it would be folly to pursue it. I think that now we must lend all of our aid to the fight of Rohan and Gondor against the forces of the dark. I am afraid that you are ill suited to a life of battle and war. For that reason, you cannot accompany us."

Legolas took breath to respond, but the aged wizard raised his hand to stop him from speaking. "Let me finish! Unfortunately, the land of Rohan is no longer safe. It is besieged by the forces of Isengard, and it would be folly to have you remain here. The citizens of Edoras who are not able to fight will be making for the fastness of Dunharrow in the hills. I think it would be best if you went with them."

Nimoë dropped her eyes, gathering her returning strength to form a reply to the venerable wizard. Seeing her drawing deep into herself, Legolas grasped her fingers and squeezed them gently, silently offering his support. Finally, she raised her clear grey gaze Gandalf. "I understand what you say. But there is more that you do not take into account. I have at my command the use of many elvish magics. They are not powerful battle strengths, but they can be very useful. Also, I am skilled in the healing arts. If you ride into battle, it may well be that you will need a healer. I wish to go with you. I wish to play a part in the defense against the coming darkness. Please, Gandalf, do not say me nay."

"How can you speak of healing when you can barely sit without aid? We must leave with the dawn."

"I will do what I must. I am an Elf. We do heal quickly."

Gandalf let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Not as quickly as all that! I have lived long among the elves. Trust me to know the extent of their recuperative powers."

Only then did Legolas finally speak. "If Nimoë wishes to journey with us, I beg you not to reject her. Pippin, Merry and Sam were equally ill equipped to join with us from the beginning, and they had less to offer to our cause. Still true heart may prove to be more valuable than sharp steel, as those bold souls have proven."

"You realize, Legolas, that you are asking me to allow her to journey into danger?" asked Gandalf.

The elven prince nodded, his face resolute. "I know. But how long do you think that Dunharrow will stand if we should fail to repel the forces of Saruman? Not long, I wager. And I have made a promise to Nimoë." Again his hand grasped her own tightly. "I would keep her where I can see her. She will be safer with me than any other place on this earth."

Gandalf sighed as if beset with a great weariness. "You have made a firm friend, I see, Nimoë, daughter of Naldor. I only hope that it will not bring either one of you to harm." He rose then and moved to leave. "I go to tell the others that you will ride with us, Nimoë. At dawn's light we will ride with Theoden and Eomer and the rest of the Rohirrim to meet the forces of Saruman. Rest while you can. The hour of battle is upon us!"

#

When Gandalf had left the room, they sat silent for many long moments, thinking gravely on what was coming before them. Slowly, for she was still weak, Nimoë pulled herself away from Legolas' embrace. "You are the truest friend I have ever known. I thank you for counseling Gandalf to take me with you. I will do everything in my power to make certain you do not regret it."

"I could not. I made a promise to you. I will remain at your side until you ask me to leave." Watching Nimoë struggle to move herself onto the bed, he pulled her up into his arms and kissed her lightly on the brow. "Friend Nimoë, I will not desert you." Then he gently settled her onto the bed. "Sleep now. Athelas is a powerful medicine, but it cannot do its work if you do not rest."

There was little need to encourage her, for her body refused to resist the lure of a peaceful slumber. Legolas closed the shutters on the windows and set himself in a chair nearby and tried to rest as well.

Elves can choose to sleep with their eyes open when they wish, and Legolas was as still as stone, so perhaps it was not surprising that when Eomer peered through the doorway he thought that the Elf prince slept. On silent feet the horse-lord moved into the room. He regarded Nimoë from a short distance, and spoke under his breath, "Such beauty. Rarely have I seen her equal." He reached a hand out as if to brush it against her cheek, but stopped himself. "Such beauty." Then he turned and left, as silently as he had come.

Legolas' blood simmered in his body as he observed the horse-lord. Nimoë was his dear friend and this mortal had failed to protect her. It was because of him that she had suffered tortures unimaginable and had lain so recently at death's door. How dare he contemplate her beauty?

As Eomer left, Legolas became aware that his hand had clenched on the hilt of his dagger. Resolutely, he released his grip, but vowed that the horse-lord would never have a chance to harm Nimoë again.


	14. Dreams and Preparation

Time passed onward, as it is wont to do, and Legolas slept. It was not, however, the usual, rejuvenating sleep of an Elf. Strange feelings of foreboding haunted the footfalls of his dream self. Warily he passed through closely growing groves, aware as he moved that the trees moved behind him to seal off the path he had trodden, denying a place to retreat. The only way open to him was the path which stretched onward ahead, and a sense of urgency and wrongness at being alone drew him forward at a brisk pace.

Dark presences began to filter through the shadowy forest, swaying as if in the steps of some macabre dance. Beyond the gnarled figures, the trees began to close off the path in front of him. And the sinister figures began to laugh. It was a sound that seemed to take joy in the withering of living things, like the last rasp of a dying breath. Then, as all routes of escape had been sealed off, he heard a scream. Far off in the woods, where he could not hope to reach her, Nimoë was screaming as if foul creatures were tearing the very skin from her body.

Desperately he tried to cut a way through the fell beasts surrounding him. They overwhelmed him at every attack, laughing as his attempts were repulsed. And the screaming grew more wild. One last time he attempted to force his way through the swaying circle, but this time a spear had been raised against him and he felt it pierce through his body.

With a jerk, he awoke, breathing heavily, surprised to find himself alive. At first his only thought was of relief to discover that it had only been a dream. Then, through his somewhat groggy mind, he realized that the screams had not been a part of a dream. At least not his. Nimoë was thrashing wildly in the bed, tangling herself in the bedsheet and screaming the same despairing wail which had pierced his dream state.

In an instant he had crossed the distance between them and caught her in his arms, lying behind her on the bed. Almost as much to soothe himself as the Elf maid, he crooned in her ear, "All is well. We are together and nothing ill can befall you. Rest easy. I watch over your slumbers."

Almost as soon as he had her within his embrace she had stopped screaming. It seemed that even in her sleep she recognized who he was and what he offered to her. She turned towards him and burrowed her face into the crook between his shoulder and his chest. Her fingers wrapped themselves trustingly into his tunic.

Well and truly he was trapped, it seemed. There was no way he could detach her without causing her to wake. He smiled a secret smile. Perhaps that was not so ill a thing. There were worse things than sleeping with a gentle lady curled trustingly in your arms. He nestled her more comfortably against him, then closed his eyes, content with her warm presence and the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. Soon they both slept, and neither was haunted by dark imaginings.

#

An hour before the sun would rise and shed its light on the day, Aragorn entered the room where Legolas and Nimoë were sleeping. He regarded them briefly, and his gaze softened when he saw how comfortably they rested.

"Are you going to stand in the doorway and watch us, or are you here to roust us out of bed for a long day's journey?" asked Legolas, who had awoken the moment the door was opened.

Aragorn smiled. "The latter, of course. Food will be arriving shortly. See that you both eat, and give her this." He set the goblet in his left hand down on a nearby table. "It is more athelas. Make sure that she drinks it all. I cannot give her more after, for too much is almost worse than not having it at all."

Legolas nodded his understanding. Aragorn turned and was halfway out the door when the Elf's voice stopped him. "Aragorn, thank you. I do not know what I would have done without you."

Over his shoulder, the ranger threw him a wry grin. "You would have managed. Her healing would have been more prolonged, but you would have managed." Then he left.

Legolas shifted slightly, to raise himself up on his elbow. "Nimoë," he spoke her name lightly, making it sound almost like the caress of the wind against a flower petal, "It is time to wake."

Clear grey eyes opened then and smiled up at him. "I know. I heard what Lord Aragorn said." Then she closed her eyes to concentrate and slowly raised herself to a sitting position. When she was upright she opened her eyes again with relief. "Well, that at least is an improvement. Perhaps if I can sit on my own, I can even fetch my own medicine."

Legolas moved to stop her, but she stayed him with her hand. "Nay. I must do this for myself. If I cannot make my way around this small room, how can I hope to travel with you into battle?" Her legs swung down off of the bed and, while she did not have her customary grace and lightness of step, she did manage to walk to the table and drink the athelas brew.

Even as he watched, she began to stand up straighter, and color began to return to her cheeks, giving them the bloom of an early rose. The room they occupied must have belonged to a woman in happier times, for there was a dressing table with a brush and glass upon it. Nimoë picked up the brush and began to run it through her tangled hair. As it came unknotted it fell long and silky around her, almost the color of starlight in its paleness.

Legolas did not hear the knock on the door when a serving man arrived with breakfast, so entranced was he. There had been little chance during the course of their acquaintance for him to see Nimoë's face when it was not covered by her hood or tense with fear and anguish. And those few times that he had, her hair had been bound tightly. Nothing had prepared him for the sheer wonder of her loveliness. As much as he hated to agree with Eomer, he had to admit that the horse-lord's assessment had been accurate. Rarely had he seen such beauty. And that with bruises and scrapes still marring her features!

Savagely he shook himself free of such thoughts. Now was the time to prepare for war, not the time to contemplate the complexities of his heart. Nimoë had moved to eat some of the food which had been left while he was lost in his thoughts. "Not too much, Nimoë," he cautioned. "After so many days of fast, you must go slowly."

She smiled at him knowingly. "You forget that I am a healer, Legolas. I know what I must do to care for myself. Do not trouble your heart about me."

And so they ate, and savored their last few moments before they rode forth to face what may well be their last day. Nimoë plaited her fair hair into a thick braid, which fell down her back, and donned the men's garb which had been provided for her, while Legolas turned his back to offer her some privacy. Along with the pants and tunic was a vest of leather and a helm of the same sturdy stuff. Also they had found her short sword, which had been taken from her upon her arrival in Edoras, and she belted the scabbard around her slender waist.

Legolas slung his quiver over his shoulder and strapped his two short swords to his back. The dagger still rested on his right hip, where it had been the previous evening when he had contemplated embedding it into Eomer's unsuspecting back. Prepared, he turned to Nimoë. "Are you ready?"

Her hand rested lightly on her sword hilt. "I am ready. I am not afraid."

As he watched her trusting gaze, Legolas found that he was very much afraid. Yet there was nothing to be done but to face what was coming. So they left to join the other fighters and make the final preparations for war.


	15. Departure

The Great Hall of Meduseld was filled to overflowing, and Legolas had to forge a path through the tightly packed, well armored bodies to reach the front of the room. Nimoë was pulled along behind him by his firm grip on her hand, but rather would she have waited outside while the warriors were in council. The din of voices echoed off the high vaulted ceiling and seemed to reverberate in her skull. Finally, they reached the foot of the throne.

Gandalf, Aragorn and Gimli were there, along with Eomer and other marshals of the realm, in attendance on the king. Eowyn stood as always behind the throne, where she lent her support to Theoden, but Nimoë saw that her gaze rested not on the Lord of the Mark. Rather did it linger on the rugged visage of Aragorn. The ranger glanced up at their approach. "Legolas, well met. And Nimoë, it is good to see you on your feet."

"It is your doing that I am as you see me. I thank you for your healing."

Aragorn nodded to her. "You would have done as much for me." Then he gestured to Gandalf, "Tell us, now that we are all assembled, what is your counsel."

Gandalf spoke in a voice both loud and powerful and it carried throughout the hall, silencing the room. "Theoden has received word that Erkenbrand's forces are sorely pressed at the Fords of Isen. We must ride thence with all speed and with all the fighters which can be gathered. Should Saruman's forces take the Ford, they will have clear passage into all of Rohan. Those who cannot be numbered among the fighters will go to Dunharrow. Those riders who are too old to follow to the Fords should accompany them, and protect them if we should fail to repulse Saruman at the Isen."

Theoden raised his hand to command attention to himself. "That is all very well, Gandalf, but who is to lead them? I have no son, and while I have named Eomer as my heir, I cannot spare him. Who then shall it be?"

Hama, who was near at hand, raised his voice. "We trust in the house of Eorl. Send the lady Eowyn to lead them. She is valiant and strong in character."

Theoden looked somewhat startled at the suggestion, but he turned to face his sister-daughter. "What say you to this, Eowyn?"

Her eyes left Aragorn and she turned their pale blueness onto Theoden. Her face was resolute and stern, and none could believe she would fail in such a task. "Loath am I to be parted from your side, my king. I see, however, that there is a great need, and I will fulfill my obligation, although I long for the glory of battle."

Theoden then arose, standing tall before his throne. "So be it! The Lady Eowyn will shepherd my subjects to the fastness of Dunharrow. All others, warriors strong, will follow me to the Ford of Isen. This will be a day which will be sung of for many years. Let us hope for songs of victory and valor! Forth!"

#

The massed throng of people then began to filter their way out of the throne room. Most went directly down the hill to the stables, where their horses had been made ready for them. The stomping and whickering of the proud beasts could be heard even at the gate of Meduseld, and it was clear that even the horses were anxious to join the battle.

The companions followed the rest out of the gate and began the walk to the stables. Eomer walked next to them and offered his arm to Nimoë for her to lean on, as she was not yet strong. She was about to accept when she was startled to hear Legolas speak, "Do not touch her. She is no longer your concern, as you have failed her once already."

Nimoë glanced back at the Elf prince. "What do you mean? Only has Eomer tried to keep me safe. It is no fault of his that I was taken captive."

"I cannot agree with you. If he had allowed you to remain in our company on the hunt, or had perhaps tried harder to keep you away from Wormtongue, then you would never have suffered as you did."

There was confusion writ plainly on her face as she replied, "I am sorry that you see it so, but I deem that Eomer is a worthy man. He acted only as he thought best, in what he thought to be my best interest. I count him as a friend, and I wish that you would do so as well. We ride to war. It is not a time to have enmity among us. Surely you must see this?"

A flush crossed Legolas' pale face before he spoke and a hardness crossed his lips, so briefly that none of the companions noted it. "For your sake, I will give him the benefit of the doubt. At least until the battle is over."

Eomer smiled broadly. "You see! That was not so very difficult. I swear on my soul that I never meant harm to come to this fair lady." Again he proffered his arm to Nimoë, and this time was rewarded when she laid her hand against his forearm. A flush crossed his face also, but it was from pleasure, rather than ire.

Soon they reached the stable yard. Shadowfax cantered up to Gandalf when the wizard whistled for him, and the great beast's hide reflected the light of the sun in such a way that he almost seemed to glow. Gandalf then threw off his cloak and was revealed in robes of glistening white. He launched himself onto the broad back of Shadowfax and the pair gleamed so brightly that all stood momentarily in awe.

Aragorn then cried out, "Behold the White Rider!" and the call was taken up throughout the stable yard. Shadowfax pranced as if he understood that the adulation was being directed at himself and his rider.

Horses were brought then to the rest of the company. Legolas greeted Arod, whom he had ridden earlier on the hunt for the hobbits, with pleasure. Nimoë, on the other hand, regarded Finduél with a bit of trepidation. "I do not know that I can ride such a spirited horse. My strength has not returned, and it was enough of a trial to remain on his back when I was healthy."

Before Eomer had a chance to offer her a seat upon his horse, Legolas swept her off the ground and placed her upon Arod's back. "You will ride with me. Do not worry about keeping your seat, for I will hold you up."

Gimli, who had been waiting with them, grunted. "And you would desert me now? I ask you, who am I to ride with, for I will not ride a horse on my own. It is not to be borne."

With a gallant gesture, Eomer spoke, "It would be an honor to have a Dwarf of such legendary valor ride with me."

Thus settled, they great company rode out of Edoras, Gandalf and Theoden in the lead, with Eomer and the remaining members of the fellowship close behind. Nimoë looked back over Legolas' shoulder and saw the figure of Eowyn, clad in silver mail, standing tall outside the gates of the city. The sun glinted off of her mail, and her golden hair blew about in the wind. She remained in place for as long as Nimoë could see her, and that was, for an Elf, a long while.


	16. Arrival at Helm's Deep

The pounding hooves of the company raised a cloud of dust off of the plains and a thunder like unto the roar of a hundred waterfalls. They made no pretense of stealth, for truly there was no way to hide their numbers.

Nimoë tried to hold herself upright, to have some active participation in the riding of Arod, but found that her stamina was sorely weakened. Still, simply being under the open sky again refreshed her more than she had hoped possible. The clean scent of the air, no matter how dust filled, was like fine wine in its headiness.

Finally, Nimoë decided that it was the better part of valor to rest, and to gather her strength for the coming battle. She had nothing to prove by showing herself strong on the journey. So she leaned back against Legolas, and felt his arm tighten around her waist. With her head rested on his shoulder, she closed her eyes. Then all she was aware of was the rocking motion of the horse, and her exhaustion dropped her into slumber.

Eomer, riding to the left of Legolas, watched her give herself over to the Elf prince's safekeeping. Would that she would grant such trust to himself! Visions of her face had haunted his sleep since the day she had foolishly attacked him, and he found that he dearly wanted to know more of her. But with the Elf ever watchful, he was afraid that he would never get the chance. He laughed as he chastised himself, "You ride into battle, foolish one! Likely you will not have the chance to do much of anything after."

Gimli, clutched to his back, called out, "What was that, Eomer?"

"Nothing at all, master Dwarf. Nothing at all."

#

Some time later, Legolas' keen eyes spotted a lone rider bearing down upon them. "Someone approaches!" he called. He could just make out their appearance and added, "It is one of the Rohirrim."

The army and the rider bore down upon each other quickly, and reined to a halt, just as they met. The rider was breathing hard and his horse was lathered in sweat. "You are too late! Saruman's forces have taken the Ford. Erkenbrand has taken those who were not killed and leads them towards Helm's Deep. The armies of Saruman are hard on their heels, and still more are reported to be coming from the north. I fear that there are not enough of you here to liberate them."

Gandalf turned Shadowfax then and commanded, "Theoden-King, take them to Helm's Deep and give what aid you can to Erkenbrand. I fear I must leave on an errand most grave." Then he spurred away, calling out over his shoulder, "Look for me at Helm's Deep!"

Nimoë had awoken when the horses pulled to a halt and she watched him go with trepidation. "Why does Gandalf leave us? Surely his powers would be of great aid at Helm's Deep!"

Eomer shook his head in wonderment as he replied, "Gandalf is an enigma and always will be. He must have knowledge that is beyond us or surely he would not desert us in our need." Then he shouted out to the army, "Onward to Helm's Deep! We must make haste!"

#

The pace was hastened and soon the riders began passing corpses, both orc and man, left to lie on the hard earth. Aragorn spoke then, "Some at least of the enemy are ahead of us, then. We will have to fight our way through to Helm's Gate."

Nimoë turned her head to look behind, and cried out in alarm. "There is a great host on the horizon! They are foul creatures, and they are setting torches to the earth!"

"Alas for my people!" cried Theoden, when he perceived the smoke billowing in the far distance.

"They move quickly, and I fear they are gaining ground on us," said Legolas. "We must reach the Gate or we stand no chance, for their numbers are vast."

And so the army of Theoden spurred onward in a last sprint for Helm's Gate. Roving bands of orcs came at them from all sides, and were cut down as the horses pounded onward. One aimed an arrow at Nimoë, but fell with one of Legolas' arrows through its skull.

Nimoë trembled in fear as the carnage spread around her. Legolas' voice in her ear was only just loud enough that she could hear him. "We are almost to the Dike, which spans the mouth of the Deep. After that we will come to the Hornburg and Helm's Gate. It is said that the Hornburg has never been captured while it was defended. There are also many caves in the Deep, where in great need one could hide. Do not fear."

The horses splashed across the Dike, and soon the Hornburg loomed into sight. "Who comes!" called a sentinel from the heights.

Eomer cried back, "Your King comes and brings you the strength of Edoras! It is Eomer, son of Eomund who speaks this!"

"Good tidings this is! I fear that it is too few, though we welcome you with open arms!" The gate swung open then and the Rohirrim host poured through, while bowmen on the wall shot down any of the orcs already present who tried to come through with them.

Even as the great gate closed after them, the farthest reaching arrows of the approaching army began to pelt the battlements. Quickly the riders dismounted, and went to take up defensive places on the walls. Legolas dismounted and lifted Nimoë down after him. She swayed briefly, but steadied herself with a hand against his arm.

Unearthly screams began to rise from the other side of the wall and the twang of bowstrings was heard from the battlements. Calls of, "They are scaling the walls!" were heard, and Legolas looked to the heights.

Nimoë understood why he hesitated. "Go," she said.

He stared at her with a desperation written on his face. "I promised to remain at your side."

"Until such time as I asked you to leave. I am asking. You are needed on the battlements. Your bow is worth twenty others. Nothing can reach me on this side of the Gate. Go!"

Emotions flowed quickly over his features: fear for her safety, pride in her bravery, and resolution to defend her by keeping the orcs on the other side of the Gate. With a suddenness that surprised even himself, he grabbed her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. Then he turned and ran up the stairs to the heights, bow in hand, and grabbing arrows from his quiver.


	17. The Battle Begins

Nimoë watched Legolas go, but quickly turned her attention to her own surroundings. The horses were milling about, nervously stamping, for they sensed the presence of orcs nearby, and the few Rohirrim who had not mounted the ramparts were attempting to herd them back further into the Deep.

Night was falling quickly, the darkness dropping like a velvet curtain, and Nimoë strained her eyes to see farther into the Deep. There were several figures approaching, and they appeared to be women and children. She grabbed the arm of a rider as he passed, asking "Who comes from the Deep?"

The man glanced at her briefly and shock registered on his face that she was both an Elf and a woman. "They are Rohirrim who have been hiding in the caves at the back of the Deep. They come to lend aid with the horses and to bring the wounded back with them so they can be treated."

Nimoë's brow furrowed and she asked, "How far is it to these caves?"

"It is a fair distance, Lady. You should make your way there quickly."

Thoughts were buzzing quickly through Nimoë's mind, and she shook her head. "If it is that far, then there will be many injured who will not survive the journey. I will remain here. If any are so grievously injured that they cannot be brought safely to the caves, have them brought to me. I am trained in the Elvish healing magics and can stabilize them for the journey."

The blond rider looked at her with a new respect growing in his eyes. Here was a brave soul indeed. "I will spread word of this along the battlements. It may be that many will be in your debt before this night is over."

She watched the rider climb the stair which so recently Legolas had mounted. Then she hailed one of the approaching women and outlined her plan. The lady of Rohan was well pleased that an Elf would be on hand to treat those most sorely injured, and was glad that she herself would not have to remain in harm's way. Nimoë took the torch the woman carried and went swiftly to find an area that was flat and open, where she could lay the injured when they came.

Just as she had decided upon a spot, she heard a cry, "My Lady Elf! This man needs your help!" Two soldiers were carrying between them a man who had been pierced through the lung by an orc arrow.

"Put him here," she ordered, pointing to a spot to her left. "I will care for him."

The injured man was laid on the earth and the other two departed. Nimoë dropped to her knees beside him and regarded his injury. The arrow was still lodged in his body. His breathing burbled and blood was trickling from the corners of his mouth. She laid her hands on his body and began to sing. The words of power wrapped themselves throughout his body, slowing the beating of his heart, and bringing thickness to the blood. When she felt that he was strong enough, she grasped the arrow tightly with one hand and put her other hand and her knee on his body to give her leverage, then yanked the arrow free. Blood flowed more freely from the wound, but it had thickened to the point where it did not gush, and Nimoë ripped material from the hem of her tunic to bandage the hole.

Soon others were being brought to her, with gaping sword cuts, arrows embedded in their flesh and cracked skulls. She had dispatched one of the women, who came to bring those she had stabilized to the caves, with directions to bring cloth for bandages and water and herbs for her to use in cleansing the wounds. To her dismay, there was no athelas in the caves, so she would have to do without that miraculous medicine.

The stream of injured was steady, and Nimoë began to sway with exhaustion. How she wished that she could work the Elven magic on herself, but alas, it did not work that way. For each man who came before her, she sang the words of power which would strengthen their bodies just enough so that they could survive until other help could be given to them.

A great aching pain grew in her heart as she worked, for she could not spare the time or energy to heal them more completely, and leaving the men suffering in agony was almost like slitting her own wrists. "Oh, my Lady Galadriel, what I would not give to have you here with me now!" she moaned in anguish.

Full night was upon them now, and the full strength of Saruman's army was pounding against Helm's Gate. Ululating shrieks and guttural battle cries sent shivers up and down Nimoë's spine, and she tried to ignore them and concentrate on her work, but was only partially successful.

Her small encampment was very near to the Gate itself, for it was one of the only completely flat areas to be found. There were a good thirty men sprawled on the ground around her, and she worked over them feverishly, hoping to keep them alive long enough to be brought to the caves. And still more were being brought forth. To her great relief, not one of her companions had been brought to her, and she hoped against hope that it meant they were still alive, and not that they were lying dead atop the battlements.

"Lady! Here is another!" Nimoë moved as quickly as she could towards the cry, stepping carefully over the bodies of the injured, and cautiously so that she did not slip and fall in the pools of crimson blood which were spread thick across the ground. When she reached the man, she almost cried. He was the man with whom she had first spoken inside the Gate, who had spread the word of her makeshift infirmary.

There was a great rent in his side, and she could see through the gash to his internal organs. The men who had brought him left quickly and Nimoë knelt down at his side, tears forming in her eyes, which she refused to shed. Emotions almost choked her voice, but she forced herself to sing past the lump which was lodged so painfully in her throat.

Without warning, a terrible explosion shook the earth and great fire exploded at the Gate, tearing the doors from their hinges. Nimoë was flung to the ground by the force of the blast, and she cowered there for a moment, unable to process what had happened. Dust was beginning to settle when she saw that the Gate was open wide, and dark, tortured bodies began to flood through.

Several of the orcs saw the small encampment and, with weapons raised, rushed forward to finish off those men who lay there helpless. Trembling with anger and fear, Nimoë stood and drew her sword. "You shall not hurt them!" she cried, oblivious to her own danger, only wishing to defend those who had no chance of defending themselves. Then she screamed out "Ai! Elbereth! Gilthoniel! Lend me your aid!" and prepared to meet the onrushing orcs.

#

High up on the battlements Legolas regained his footing, having also been thrown by the blast which broke open the Gate. Just as he was regaining his bearings his keen elven ears made out a scream, "Ai! Elbereth! Gilthoniel! Lend me your aid!" and he spun around to find the source of the cry. To his horror, he saw dark orcs pouring through the gate and a great number of them were headed towards a solitary figure, wielding a short sword, standing alone in front of rows of injured men.

"Nimoë!" The scream was torn from his body before he could even think to form words. Without thought he began to loose arrows at the foremost orcs, at the same time running, as fast as his strong legs would carry him, to the stairs which would bring him closer to her.

Eomer heard Legolas' anguished scream and took a final killing stroke at an orc, which had almost surmounted the wall in front of him. While he himself could not see it, Eomer knew that Nimoë must be in danger. For no other cause would the Elf abandon the heights. Eomer unsheathed his sword from the orc's foul body and it crashed down, bringing down others of his kind in its fall. As soon his sword was free, Eomer ran after the Elf prince, calling to others as he passed, "Orcs are within the Gate! Bring all aid which can be spared, we must seal the doors!"


	18. Exemplary Valor

The tide of onrushing orcs swelled ever closer to Nimoë and her heart began to beat as rapidly as a hummingbird's. Her breathing was shallow, but rapid, and the combination of blood coursing much too quickly through her veins and an insufficient supply of air caused her extremities to tingle into numbness. Ignoring the fact that she could no longer feel the sword in her hand, she raised it up and prepared to fight.

Then they were upon her, swarming around her like locusts, tearing at her with claw-like hands. Her sword arm flailed about like a windmill gone mad, and in her panicked fervor, she managed to inflict a good deal of damage. Orcs fell back from her with cuts to their arms and chests, some to their legs, and one orc's neck she almost severed. They came at her like an army of ants, mindlessly throwing themselves forward as if they wanted simply to crawl over herself and her charges, leaving nothing but mangled remains in their path.

The beasts which came against her were armed almost solely with rocks and clubs. A hidden corner of her mind which was still capable of conscious thought pointed out that the orcs with superior weaponry must be engaged in the scaling of the wall. Those foes which managed to make their way past her erratically thrashing sword pummeled her with their crude weapons and, while she suffered great pain, and surely was deeply bruised, she was lucky that none managed to break her bones, or worse yet, to land a killing blow on her skull.

Through the din of the fighting, and the almost surreal vision of the disfigured orcs swarming around her, lit only by flickering torchlight, she became aware that some of her foes were falling. Help was on the way! All she had to do was hold out until aid could reach her. Then she could begin to move her injured charges back away from the fighting.

With that thought of hope, she swung even more fiercely against her foes. How they kept multiplying! Was there no end?

Cries of, "For Rohan! Forth Eorlingas!" reached her ears and she knew that help was closing in. She could not risk raising her eyes to see how close they were, but she prayed fervently that they would arrive soon, for the adrenaline which had pushed her as far as she had come was rapidly losing out to her weakened state of health, and she knew not how much longer she could stand.

Although she was aware that she had been hit countless times, she did not truly feel the pain, since her body was ignoring the agony to allow her to keep fighting. Silently she blessed that miracle of nature which allowed the animal instincts to take control in the heat of battle.

Without warning, a club hit the back of her calves, sweeping her legs out from under her, and she found herself flat on her back, with the breath knocked completely from her body. Her vision clouded as she struggled to move, yea even to draw a breath, and through the haze she saw orcs bearing down upon her, raising their weapons to strike her dead. Like an upturned beetle she lay, unable to raise even a finger in her own defense, and her soul cried out in despair that her time upon the earth was to come to an end.

Then, like lightning striking from the sky, a figure tall and fair leapt in front of her, swinging two short swords and raining death down upon the fell creatures. "Back, Creatures of the Shadow! You have no place here! Go back to your master, or prepare to meet your doom!" he cried in a voice of ringing thunder.

As Nimoë's vision began to clear, and she was able again to draw breath, she knew that it was Legolas who so bravely defended her against the evil hordes. For a moment, she was awestruck at his battle skills. His swords danced like flashes of liquid flame and none of the orcs who approached him were able to pass.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw more men pouring down from the ramparts. Most were running to block the Gate and hold back more orcs from passing through, and others were coming to join the Elf in guarding the injured, and in killing off those of the enemy who had already breached the first line of defense.

#

Legolas fought like one possessed. If Nimoë were to fall here, he knew that he would never forgive himself, and desperation drove him to fight with a skill he had never before attained. He was, however, unable to break off his attack, for then the orcs would have no impediment to massacring the injured men behind him. Since he could not himself get the Elf maiden out of harm's way, he searched as best he was able for someone else who could. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Eomer wade into the fray, wielding his great sword almost like an axe. "Eomer!" he cried, unable to name any of the other Rohirrim who fought at his side. "Get Nimoë away from this place. Take her into the Hornburg!" He saw the blonde giant nod his understanding, then focused all of his attention on the enemy.

Eomer fought his way through the swarming orcs, and pulled Nimoë to her feet. "Come with me!"

"No! I cannot leave the injured!" she cried, and began to turn away towards the man laying moaning on the earth behind her.

"I do not have time to argue with you, so forgive me," spoke Eomer, and so saying, he slung her bodily over his shoulder and ran for the Hornburg, cutting down any enemy which crossed his path.

Nimoë's head bounced off his back repeatedly as he ran. "Put me down. Put me down! Those men need me!"

"Trust me when I say that more will be found, and you can treat them just as well inside the Hornburg. I can name at least two warriors who will fight with a freer heart knowing that you are safe within its walls." He leapt then up the stairs, taking two steps at a time, and crossed the top of the wall until he was inside the Hornburg itself. Only then did he set Nimoë back on her feet. "Now stay here!" he commanded. "Set up your infirmary within these walls and do not venture forth unless the citadel itself is beset." Abruptly he fell to his knee before her and took her hand in his, saying, "Please, for the sake of my heart, promise me that you will remain here safe. If I am worried about you, I fear that I shall not be able to keep my mind on what I must do."

Nimoë was moved to hear Eomer speak thus, and dared not give him cause to lose his focus at such a time. Still, she had one more concern. "I will promise, if you will promise me this one thing in return. Make certain that Legolas is well. He saved my life, and I would not have him pay for it with his own."

It felt to Eomer as though a great weight had been lifted off of his heart and then was replaced just a swiftly by a new one, not as dire, but perhaps more painful. "I promise. I will see him safe, if it is within my power." Then he rose and was gone.


	19. Contention Among Allies

With rapid steps, Eomer again descended from the battlements. Round about below him was a writhing horde of orcs, and what seemed to be an equal number of men, engaged in mortal combat. He strained his eyes, but could not make out what was happening where he had last left the Elven prince. "Oh, for the sight of an Elf!" he spoke, morosely, then resigned himself to slashing his way through the melee to find Legolas.

As it turned out, he did not have far to go. The voice of the Elf reached his ears over the tumult. "Eomer! Is she safe?"

The horse-lord calmly beheaded an orc, and used the resulting moment of peace to turn towards the voice. Legolas was bearing down upon him, and while his garments were stained with blood, he certainly seemed to be all in one piece, if one could judge by the skill with which he wielded his weapons. Grudgingly Eomer admitted to himself that the Elf was indeed a superior fighter. "I brought her within the fastness of the Hornburg and made her swear that she would not leave." He was forced to pause then in his speech as he was set upon again. Once his attacker had been felled, he spoke again. "She made me promise that I would see you safe, Elf. You must not fall, or I fear that she will be forever blaming herself for your loss."

By that time Legolas had reached his side. The Elf and the horse-lord put their backs together, and continued the battle. "You have done me a great service, Man of Rohan. I am in your debt."

"Nay, consider it only payment for my earlier failure."

Both strong and fearsome in battle, the two fought valiantly, clearing a path through toward the Gate, where they saw Gimli directing a crew of Rohirrim in building a wall of stone to seal the breach in the defensive wall. Other men followed along in their wake, and went to join the workers.

Gimli spotted the two approaching and called out to Legolas, "Why are you not atop the wall with your bow? Get back up there and kill the vermin which keep trying to knock down my wall."

"I am on my way, friend Dwarf! Fear not!"

Eomer decided then to accompany the Elf to the battlements, for he had sworn to Nimoë that he would keep him from harm, although there did not seem to be much chance that the Elf prince would falter. As they fought their way back to the stairs, he called out over his shoulder, "Elf, do you love her?"

Legolas' blade slowed almost imperceptibly when he heard the question. "What do you mean? She is my subject and my friend. Of course I love her."

Legolas started up the stairs first, clearing the way of those orcs which were streaming up ahead of him. Eomer, keeping his back to the Elf, stepped cautiously backward up the steps, while keeping at bay those who came from below. "That is not what I meant, Elf. Are you in love with her?"

They had then reached the relative safety of the ramparts and Legolas swung around and regarded him fiercely. "This is not the time discuss matters of love. What I feel or do not feel is none of your concern. I forgive your for your earlier failure, and I am still in your debt for bringing Nimoë to safety, but do not make the mistake of considering me your friend."

Eomer regarded the fire dancing in the Elf's eyes and knew that he had his answer, whether Legolas was aware of it or not. He bowed his head in acknowledgement. "While you may not consider me a friend, you are my ally. I will guard your back while you eliminate the Dwarf's difficulties."

"As you will."

#

Within the Hornburg, Nimoë laid claim to a room, and sent word out with a passing fighter that the injured were to be brought to her within. Soon a steady stream were being carried in, and once again she began the rounds with her healing song. To the men whose souls she touched, she seemed to glow like a radiant angel, peaceful and serene, with no blemish on her.

To the eyes of Theoden, who stood outside the door watching her work, she looked as if she should not be able to stand. Black and blue bruises marred every inch of her, and he sorrowed when he realized that many of them had been present before the battle, incurred by his own command. Blood flowed freely from gashes on her cheek and her brow, and her tunic was soaked with it, so much so that there must be other wounds where he could not see.

Her eyes did not seem able to focus, and she swayed often, almost as if she could not keep herself conscious for another moment. Yet she pushed ever onward, meeting each new man who was brought to her, and giving him her life-saving song.

Theoden turned when his name was called and saw Aragorn approaching him. "Theoden-King, do you know where I would find Eomer? I promised him that we would draw swords together this night, and I have not yet been able to fight at his side."

"Alas, Aragorn, I know not. I have heard rumors of him both on the battlements and below, although most recently I heard said that he was on the wall with the Elf."

Aragorn nodded then, "I will look there for him."

Nimoë's keen hearing had overheard the conversation and she stood up briefly from her work. "If you find them, Lord Aragorn, please assure them that I have obeyed their commands." Tears filled her eyes then as she continued. "Tell them that they have my love, and all of my hopes go with them."

"I will, Lady. It will lighten their hearts." He turned then and ran out onto the battlements.

Yet another man was carried in then, and to Nimoë's horror, he was riddled with orc arrows. His brown hair and stern face brought back images of Boromir, who had also been made a living pincushion. She knelt beside him and took his hand, knowing as she did so that the number and extent of his injuries put him beyond her ability to heal.

Through gurgles and gasps he whispered, "Lady… help… me…" His eyes bored into hers and he clutched at her with desperate intensity. His last word was so soft that she could barely make it out. "Please…" Then he breathed no more, and his body stiffened into death.

The tears which she had been fighting for so long sprang forth with a wail of anguish and she fell sobbing across his still form. "Why must I fail! This is too much to bear! Why?!"

She was startled to feel a frail hand laid gently on her back. "My Lady," spoke Theoden from where he knelt over her, "You have not failed. So many men here owe you their lives. You must be strong now. Do not lose heart. There are so many more who need your aid."

Slowly she raised her head off of the bloodied corpse and regarded the king, his eyes wise and kindly. Ashamed then of her outburst, she dashed the tears away from her face with the back of her hand, leaving a new trail of blood upon her cheek. "You are right. Please, Theoden-King, do not let me falter."

She rose then and went to greet yet another man, who was brought to her side. While her failure still galled her, she knew that she must not let it keep her from doing all that she could, and she chided herself for her moment of weakness.

Theoden also rose and returned to his place in the doorway. His heart was troubled, since in his old age, he could not fight, and he vowed to do all he could to keep the Elf maiden going, to save as many of his men as could possibly be saved. It was the only thing he could do towards the saving of his kingdom.


	20. Unexpected Declarations

Aragorn did indeed find Legolas and Eomer upon the wall. He fought his way clear to their side, and was greeted heartily, "Aragorn! Welcome to our little corner of Helm's Gate! Will you join us in its defense?" asked Eomer, who was facing him, while the Elf rained arrows, which he had recently scavenged off of the dead, into the forces of Saruman.

"I will. I bear you both a message. Nimoë bids me tell you that she is well, and will remain safe within the Hornburg. She sends her love, and bids you know that her hopes ride with you."

Legolas, who had begun to tire, took heart on hearing this, and stirred himself to fight past the weariness which beset him. "Aragorn, I am afraid that we will not be able to hold the Gate much longer. The men of Rohan are strong and fearless, but the sheer numbers of Saruman's army will soon overwhelm us all."

Aragorn nodded in agreement. "We will soon be forced to take shelter in the Hornburg itself, or in the caves of the Deep. Dark is the hour, my friends, and while I cannot see how, I can only hope that the rising of the sun will bring us better hope."

They fought then in silence for countless minutes, immersed only in the defense of the Gate. Then, with a crash as loud as the loudest thunder, fire again exploded against the wall. All three were sent sprawling in a pile, Eomer on the bottom with Aragorn draped over him and Legolas atop both. Legolas leapt off with all the speed and grace inherent to his race and pulled Aragorn up behind him. "Eomer, are you injured?"

Eomer dragged himself to his feet and grinned, "You care then, Elf? More than forming the base of a pillar of men does it take to do harm to a marshal of Rohan. What damage has the evil fire from Orthanc wrought this time?"

Legolas squinted through the clearing haze and to his horror he saw that an entire section of the wall, on the side farthest away from the Hornburg, had crumbled into a pile of rubble. "They are through the wall. There will be no blocking this hole. We must retreat to a more defensible position."

Aragorn then raised his voice, which was surprisingly powerful, given his usually soft-spoken nature, and shouted, "Take cover, Men of Rohan! Make for the Hornburg or make for the caves! This will be our last defense!"

Then the three allies turned and ran along what was left of the wall, and into the safety of the Hornburg. Four-score other men ran in along with them, and when they saw that no others were left to follow, Eomer and Aragorn pushed closed the heavy doors which would be their last line of defense, and barred them shut with a plank of solid oak laid across them.

Theoden appeared at their side and addressed them. "This is not to be borne! I will not die here, cooped up and imprisoned inside my own fortress. When the sun dawns, I will ride forth and in one final assault bring either an end to my foes or death in glorious battle to myself. Will you ride with me?"

Aragorn nodded in assent. "I will ride with you."

Eomer and Legolas also agreed, and Eomer gave voice to the thoughts which both carried in their hearts. "We will all surely die if we remain here. Saruman can bring the explosive fire of Orthanc against the Hornburg as easily as he could the Gate. Our only chance of survival is to take him by surprise. He certainly will not expect a direct attack, as he believes us to be cowed."

"Have any of you seen Gimli?" asked Legolas, worried about his friend.

Theoden shook his head. "He did not come inside the Hornburg. Let us hope that he has seen his way safe to the caves."

Orcs were already streaming over Helm's Gate and began throwing themselves against the walls of the Hornburg. A voice cried out over the general hubbub within, "Look to the windows! They are coming through the windows!"

So the three warriors scattered, each taking a position at a window, sword at the ready, to repulse any orc who attempted to enter. Theoden retreated farther into the citadel, intending to show himself, alive and well, to his subjects within.

#

Nimoë worked on through a haze of pain and disorientation. It had come to the point where she was barely aware of anything but pain, both her own and that of her patients.

She was aware, however, from the conversations she heard around her, that they were now trapped within the fortress and that the enemy was trying to enter through the windows and by battering against the door. Also she was aware that with the coming of the dawn, all of the remaining able-bodied men were going to mount a final assault against the vast army.

As irrational as it might be, she found herself wishing that the dawn would never come. Cold fear gripped her heart when she thought of her friends mounting what could not hope to be more than a suicide charge.

With the Rohirrim trapped inside the fortress and the caves, the number of injured men being brought to her had slowed significantly. Finally, Nimoë was able to treat every one of the men who had come to her for aid. While they were not well, by any stretch of the imagination, she did not have the energy within her to heal them more fully.

Since the men within the Hornburg could not all fight at the same time, several had come to her infirmary to offer their assistance. One of them now approached her and bowed to her gravely. "Lady, we can care for those here now well enough without you. Please, won't you take some rest? You look as though you are on the verge of collapse."

Unable to form words to express her appreciation, she nodded, then stumbled out the door.

#

Legolas, Eomer and Aragorn had been spelled at the windows by fresher arms, and they stood in close counsel together with Theoden, laying out the plans for the attack. Their faces were grave, but their eyes burned with the fervor which comes upon men who have nothing left to lose.

"Have you a trumpeter here, Theoden-King?" asked Aragorn.

"There are men here with strong enough lips to play upon the Horn of Helm, if that is what you mean," replied the king.

Aragorn nodded. "When we are about to ride forth, let us then sound the Horn. It will put fear into the hearts of our enemies, and give courage to the men of Rohan."

Legolas and Eomer agreed that the sounding of the Horn would serve as a rallying call, and Eomer pointed out that those in the caves might ride forth and join them upon hearing it. There was no other way to communicate with them.

"We are agreed then?" asked Theoden.

The three men and the Elf prince clasped hands together in one accord. Their grasp was strong and the pureness of their purpose bound them together as brothers in arms.

Just then Legolas glanced up and stared in disbelief. Stumbling along, with her hand against the wall as if she could not stand without its solid strength, was Nimoë. Her eyes were glazed and she did not appear to be at all aware of her surroundings. Even as he watched, she staggered and fell to her knees, and she dropped her face into her bloody hands.

His voice came out in a choked whisper as he spoke her name, "Nimoë." Then he broke from his companions and ran to her, dropping to his knees in front of her. Gently he pulled her hands from her face and regarded her agonized countenance. Tears slid silently down her cheeks, leaving clear trails through the blood which clung to her skin, and her eyes held the torment of unimagined grief.

When she became aware of him in front of her, that her hands were clasped firmly within his own, and his body was still strong and whole, her face brightened and she held herself imperceptibly straighter. "Legolas," she breathed, "You are alive." Joy suffused her voice then and it seemed to hold the hope of a new day dawning. "You are well! I never thought to see you alive again." Here she stopped in breathless wonder. "I did not think that I could go on without you."

She dropped her eyes away from his then in embarrassment, dismayed that she had spoken so when she had no reason to hope that he might feel so completely lost without her. Still, as soon as the words were spoken, she realized that they were true. She loved him with all of her heart, all of her mind, body and soul. The realization was like the blossoming of flowers in spring, and it seemed that the warmth of spring sunshine filled her entire body, giving her the strength to lift her gaze again to meet his. New tears fell from her eyes, but the smile, which spread across not just her mouth but her whole lovely countenance, proved that they were tears of joy.

At her unexpected declaration and the sheer wonderment writ upon her face, Legolas felt as if his heart stopped beating, then began to pound again with a new purpose. There was nothing else in the world then: not the din of fighting, nor the near certainty of death on the morrow. Only the power of love which hit his heart like a starburst, bringing a feeling of infinite strength and ultimate tenderness.

He released his grip then and cupped her battered face within his strong hands. Almost drowning in the welcome writ plainly in her glistening grey eyes he whispered, with intense fervor, "Nimoë, you are my world." Then he pulled her to him fiercely, showering her bruised lips and face with kisses and holding her so closely that it seemed to those watching that the two Elves should not be able to breathe.


	21. Darkness Before Dawn

Aragorn and Theoden looked on with baffled, but pleased, expressions. Aragorn had suspected something of Legolas' feelings, but the passionate intensity with which he expressed them came as a surprise to him. Feeling suddenly like an intruder, he averted his eyes.

Eomer's breathing had stopped when he first saw Nimoë enter the room, and he had been poised to go to her side, when Legolas moved. Something in the set of the Elf's shoulders had told him that assistance was neither needed nor wanted. And so Eomer stood back and felt the plunge of the dagger into the very depths of his soul when Nimoë inadvertently revealed her love to the Elf prince.

Her fingers clutched Legolas' shoulders with a desperate intensity, and the look of pure happiness brushed onto the contours of her expressive face proved to Eomer beyond a doubt that here was the true love of her heart. The crushing finality of that realization was too much for him to bear, and he turned and left the room as quickly as his legs would carry him, praying that none would see the agony of loss which pierced him through.

#

Pulling his lips softly away from Nimoë's, his gaze never leaving hers, Legolas smiled gently down at her, and regret filled him as he spoke. "Would that there was time to tell you fully of my love. Sadly, there is precious little time for anything. The new day will dawn in a little over an hour, and at that time I will ride forth to come against Saruman." He brushed his lips against her brow, caressingly, as if she were more precious than mithril, for indeed to him she was, and ran his finger gently across her lips, which trembled at his touch.

"Must you truly leave me? I am so very afraid for you."

His eyelids dropped, and his shoulders slumped as if he shouldered too heavy a burden. "I must do this thing. Even should it mean my death." He raised his piercing blue eyes to meet hers. "I must do it for you."

Nimoë leapt to her feet in consternation, then clenched her hand against the wall so that she could remain standing. "What do you mean you must do it for me? Do you not understand that if I lose you I have nothing left in this world? How am I supposed to go on when there is no sunlight to greet me?"

Legolas remained kneeling at her feet, where he took the hand which did not support her weight, and pressed his lips to the back of it. "You must find a way. When we ride out, I want you to hide yourself. Find some secret corner where none can hunt you down. If we fail, Saruman will send his armies to eliminate everyone within the Hornburg. Do not let yourself be taken. Once he is satisfied that all have been killed, he will relax his vigilance. Then is the time to make your escape. Run as fast as you can, and do not look back. Take word to Galadriel in the Golden Wood, then make for the Grey Havens. There you will be safe. Only then will you truly be free." His eyes bored into her as he begged, "Promise me!"

She shook her head in denial. "Nay, Legolas. I am free only when I am with you. You will not command me in this. I ride with you."

Aragorn's voice broke in upon their interlude. "She is right, friend," he spoke and laid a hand on Legolas' shoulder. "There is no way that you will convince her to stay behind. Even if you force a promise from her, she will follow." A wry grin crossed his face. "Trust me when I say this. I know something of the heart of an Elf maiden in love."

Nimoë then raised Legolas up, and he stood tall in front of her. "He speaks the truth, my heart. And you promised me that you would not leave my side. This time I will hold you to your word."

As she spoke, her strength finally failed her, and she swayed alarmingly. Legolas' quick arms reached out and gathered her to his chest, fully supporting her slight weight. Aragorn spoke one last time, "Stay with her. Let her rest. Enough planning has been done. All that is left is to wait for morning. Take her to a safer place and watch over her." He gripped his friend's arm and spoke most solemnly. "Cherish this time, my friend. It may be all that you will have."

Legolas watched his friend leave, then finally bowed to the inevitability of the coming day. "Nimoë, can you walk?" he whispered into her hair.

The smile she bestowed upon him held all the radiance of the sun glinting off of gentle waves as she replied, "My soul is so joyous I feel that I could fly." Her face fell then as she continued, "I am afraid, however, that my body is failing me. I do not even know that I can stand alone."

He swept her up into his arms then, and she melted into the quiet strength which held her supported. "There is no need. Rest safe in my arms, sweet lady. In this hour before the morning comes, no power on this earth could harm you, and you need not trouble with the weight of the world."

He stepped carefully through the crowded hallway, and the men moved to make as clear a path as they could. Several recognized the Elf maid who had worked so tirelessly to save their comrades, and they rejoiced to see her taken under the Elf prince's protective wing.

Hama, Theoden's gate-warden, approached them from the milling crowd. "Prince Legolas, I know of a place away from the confusion where you could bring the Lady Nimoë for a few minutes of peace."

"Lead on."

Hama led them up a flight of stairs, and then pushed open a door at the top. It revealed a small chamber, unlit, and bare of furnishings. "I will guard the door. The lady needs rest, and I would not have her disturbed."

Gently Legolas set Nimoë's feet to the floor and, while he kept his steadying hand at the small of her back, he faced Hama. "Thank you. You are a true friend."

Hama nodded, and retreated.

Nimoë sank to the bare stone floor, unable to stand a moment longer, and Legolas settled himself next to her. The cold of the stones immediately began to sink into his skin, and he lifted Nimoë up onto his extended legs. "This floor is not fit for you to sit upon." Softly he reached out his hand and leaned her head against his shoulder, and the feel of her body close against his was like a smoldering flame.

Nimoë began to speak, but he hushed her with a finger laid across her lips. "Do not speak. Our hearts know what we feel. Let me give you comfort until the sun rises, and I will feel easier knowing that we will have spent what may be our last hour wrapped close in each other's arms."

Great sorrow mingled with the happiness which surged through Nimoë. She lifted her lips to Legolas' and the feeling when he claimed her mouth was like the pull of the moon upon the sea, irresistible and timeless. The kiss lasted only moments, but it felt like an eternity.

When finally their lips parted, they clung together in the darkness of the chamber, imprinting every scent, every texture, every breath of their beloved onto their hearts. That would have to be enough to sustain them through the uncertainty and dread which crept through them at the thought of the sun's inevitable dawning. Never before had an Elf thought to fear the light of day, but fear it they did, and took their only solace in each other's silent, steadfast presence.

#

**Author's Note: I wasn't expecting that chapter to come out so… intense. Legolas and Nimoë made me do it! I hope that the strength of their love will not frighten away my dear readers. Do not fear, there is much more to the story. :-D**


	22. The Coming of Day

The darkness of the chamber robbed Nimoë of her sight, so she closed her eyes and tried to melt into the warmth beneath her that was Legolas. His arms around her were solidly reassuring and she surrendered herself to his care. Her body softened as the overwhelming strength of his love seeped into her with a shimmering radiance that melted away pain.

Nimoë was content to float there, in the beguiling haze of unreality and comfort. Only a small part of her mind screamed at her that this bliss was only temporary, and she shoved it back from her consciousness, wanting only to treasure what time she had. Those minutes could have lasted as long as the turning of the seasons, or as briefly as the flap of a butterfly's wings, but to Nimoë it seemed to be a moment frozen in infinity.

A light rapping upon the door broke ruthlessly into Nimoë's awareness and she lifted her head from where it lay, nestled in the hollow of Legolas' neck, tucked under his chin. "Is it time?"

Hama's voice answered her soft inquiry. "The men of Rohan make ready to ride forth. You must come now and find horses."

Legolas offered his hand as a firm grip for Nimoë to lever herself off of his lap, then arose as well. He held her in front of him, her shoulders gripped tightly between his hands. "Whatever happens, know this now. I love you, Nimoë. I love you like the bird loves the breeze, like the fish loves the stream. You sustain me. I will do everything in my power to see us both safe through the day, but I fear that even my best may not be enough."

This time Nimoë was the one to place her fingers against his lips. "Hush, my heart. I put all of my trust in you." Then she took his hand from her shoulder and pressed his long fingers tightly, wishing that they could have just a few more precious moments alone with their hearts beating close together. Firmly she put those thoughts aside, and pushed open the door. "The sun will not wait for us. We must be on our way."

With Legolas' arm wrapped around her waist to support her, Nimoë was able to walk down the flights of stairs on her own two legs, although she leaned on him heavily. How long had it been since she had rested? Eaten a full meal? The emptiness in her middle came not only from the depth of her emotions, but also from her state of near starvation. What would it feel like to experience the swell of passion without the interference of physical discomfort? Her breath came out in a sigh as she accepted that she may never truly know.

They came at last into the base of the Hornburg, which had been converted into a makeshift stable, and looked about for their friends. Legolas spotted Aragorn, sitting tall and proud on the back of a chestnut stallion, and he led Nimoë towards him.

The horses were close packed and they moved erratically, the tenseness which pervaded the large room making them jumpy. Legolas guided Nimoë carefully, so as to avoid being trampled in the crush. Finally they reached Aragorn's side, and Legolas spoke, "Aragorn, we are here. Do plans remain unchanged?"

Aragorn nodded down at the Elves. "They do. We will ride forth with the dawn and make for the Dike. The main bulk of Saruman's army is encamped there. Arod is here in the citadel. I think that you will find him ready for you near the front gate. Mount up and await me there. Theoden and Eomer will also join us and together we will lead the charge."

Once more the two Elves set out across the large room, and Nimoë pressed herself close to Legolas' side, overawed by the powerful beasts snorting and stomping around her. The smell of them was potent and alive, but within the enclosed space it seemed to bear down upon her, and it smelled like fear.

They reached the gate and found Arod waiting for them. He stamped his forepaw in greeting and Nimoë managed a small smile as she reached out to stroke the beast's nose ridge. Legolas turned and dropped a soft kiss onto Nimoë's lips. "You must ride behind me today, dear heart, for I will need my arms free to do battle. Hold tightly to me and do not let go."

"I will not let go. I shall cling to you like a vine."

Legolas vaulted then onto the horse's back, and extended his hand down to pull her up after him. Before Nimoë had a chance to accept it, however, she found herself lifted high from behind and settled onto the horse.

She turned her head and found Eomer standing at her side. He took her hand and bent his head over it reverently before placing a soft kiss on its back. "Lady Nimoë, you have been a blessing to my people here. I thank you for all that you have done. I wish I had some way to repay you, but since we ride into battle it seems that there may never be a chance."

Nimoë looked down at him and, while he smiled at her, she perceived that he was hiding some deep hurt. "I require no payment for my healing skills, Eomer." She smiled brightly at him then, hoping somehow to lift the shadow which hung heavy over him, and she spoke with a pert optimism. "I will discuss it further with you this evening, however, when we have beaten back the forces of Saruman."

The corners of his mouth pulled back in a bemused smile. "I look forward to it." He turned his attention then to Legolas. "I know that you do not need me to tell you this, Elf, but keep her safe. If there is any possible way, keep her from harm."

As Legolas regarded the horse-lord, a sudden dawn of understanding swept over him, and he knew the man's heart. "You may be assured, Eomer, that I would give my life to keep her safe." He took a deep breath to strengthen himself before continuing. "If I should fall and you should live, I want you to look after Nimoë. I see now that you would never have knowingly brought her into danger. You are a good man and true." He proffered his hand to the horse-lord. "I offer you my hand in friendship, Eomer. Please accept my apology for the proud way I have behaved towards you."

Eomer gripped the Elf prince's hand firmly, acknowledging the Elf's recognition of his innermost thoughts. "There is nothing to forgive. I am now, and will remain, your friend. If we survive this day I look forward to spending time learning more about so worthy an Elf. And you need not fear for Nimoë. If needs be, she will be safe in my care." He released Legolas' hand then and went to find his own horse.

Nimoë watched him go, perplexity written in the tightening of her brow. Something of import had just happened, and she did not understand exactly what it was. Still, she was glad that Legolas seemed to have come to his senses regarding Eomer, whom she had always deemed to be a worthy man.

Arod began to prance with nervous energy and Nimoë was forced to bend all of her thought to remaining on his back. She felt Legolas reach around behind him to pull her close, and she was glad for the added support. Her head swam and she swore that, if she was still alive when the day was over, she would sleep as long as her body would allow. She almost could not remember what it felt like to be free of the terrible weight of weariness that beset her.

A loud voice rang out through the room, "Make way for Theoden, Lord of the Mark!" Riders sidled their horses away from the center of the room, clearing a path for the aged monarch to pass through. His horse pranced with energy and vitality, and the king's face shone with a youthful joy, which belied his infirmity, at the prospect of riding forth into battle.

Aragorn followed behind him, and Eomer reined his mount around to join them at the gate. When they arrived at the gate, Theoden held up his hand for silence. All conversations were immediately stilled, and even the horses quieted their nervous nickers, seemingly anticipating the words of the king.

Finally he spoke, in a voice which commanded attention with its fearsome intensity. "Men of Rohan! We ride forth against the army of one who would bring darkness down over the whole of Middle-Earth. Already he has set flame to the grassy plains of our fair country. If we are to stop him from bringing his evil down upon our mothers, sisters, wives and children, we must fight as never an army has fought before. Show no mercy. Show no fear. Forth Eorlingas!"

Theoden thrust his sword high into the air as he shouted the final cry and the Hornburg echoed with the voices which took up the call. A lone man stood atop the citadel and when he heard the shouts rising up to him, he took breath and placed his lips to the mighty Horn of Helm.

#

The sound which rang forth was as loud as a full score of silver trumpets sounded simultaneously, and it echoed off of the walls of the Deep, reverberating tenfold for seemingly endless moments. The army of Saruman paused in its assault, and fear came over their dark souls as the sun broke forth from its slumber in glorious majesty while the Horn heralded its coming with overpowering splendor.

In the momentary silence which followed the sounding of the Horn, the army of Saruman stood frozen, unsure of how to proceed. Then the great gates of the Hornburg burst open and with fearsome cries the army of Rohan began to pour forth, crushing any orcs which did not move aside quickly enough. They rode with deadly purpose towards the Dike, silver swords glinting like flame in the crimson light of the newly risen sun.


	23. Unexpected Arrivals

**Author's Note: All right, in The Two Towers, the upcoming scene takes four hundred and thirty words. Just 430 little words. And every single time I read it (and I've gone over it and over it) I just sit there going "HUH?" I hate to say it, but it is the one part of LOTR that I just haven't quite managed to wrap my mind around. Therefore, this chapter is a challenge, not only to describe it to you the readers, but for me to understand it myself. Please let me know if it makes sense to you when you read it. I'd hate to leave my readers going "HUH?" It's such an uncomfortable feeling. ;-p Onward!**

#

Nimoë forced herself to keep her eyes open as Arod leapt forth from the Hornburg. Legolas rode with innate skill and she trusted in him implicitly. He would not let her fall as long as she kept her grip tight around him. His bowstring sang as he pelted the enemy around them with arrows. Nimoë kept her head ducked down behind his shoulder, and tilted to the left so that she would not impede his hands from grabbing arrows from his quiver.

Deeply burnished light filtered down into the coomb and Nimoë watched as the steep stone walls blurred past, the fissures and rents running through them thrown into sharp relief by the deep shadows. Legolas' voice ripped back through the air and reached her ears. "We have taken them by surprise. They are running before us. I do not think they will retreat past the Dike, however, so there we will make our stand. Can you continue to hold on?"

Nimoë shouted as loudly as she could, so that she would be heard over the screams of the enemy and the pounding rumble of the horses' hooves. "I bend all of my strength to it. I shall not fall."

The wind whipping past pulled mercilessly at her braid, and she felt it begin to unravel. Long hours ago the cord binding it had vanished, and it was undoubtedly lying on the ground behind Helm's Gate. Perversely, she found that the rush of air, swirling her hair in a pale cloud, ignited a swell of exhilaration within her. Legolas' golden tresses whipped about as if they had their own life and long strands stung her skin like sharp rain. She welcomed the slight pain, for it reminded her that she was still alive, and she leaned her head back to allow the breeze fuller access to her face.

Nimoë closed her eyes to better feel the kiss of the wind against her cheeks and took a deep, cleansing breath deep inside herself. The scents of the forest wafted through her, rife with sharp cedar, steady oak and pungent pine, and she rejoiced in the familiar odors.

Abruptly her eyes flew open. Forest? What forest? All that was near to the Deep was verdant, rolling grassland, and even that would most likely be nothing but a smoldering blanket over the hard packed earth.

"Legolas!" she cried out, "Something is amiss!"

"What is it, Nimoë?"

She stared out from under his upraised bow arm, but could see nothing around the curve of the coomb. "Can you not smell it? Either there is a forest nearby or my mind is well and truly gone."

All of Legolas' thought had been trained upon the orcs which ran ahead of them and cutting them down to their deaths. He most certainly had not been paying any attention to his nose. Now that he thought about it, though, he realized that Nimoë was right. Something was most definitely amiss.

The curve of the coomb was rapidly coming upon them and with powerful strides the steeds of Rohan came round it, into full sight of the Dike and the land beyond. What faced them there brought them to a standstill. The eyes of the men were wide with wonder, for where once there had been only the endless sweep of the plains of Rohan, there stood now a great forest.

The trees were tall and strong, rooted deep into the earth as if they had stood there for countless millennia. Yet somehow they managed to exude a deep sense of long-simmering rage and the shadows beneath them were darker than those formed by the usual play of sunlight on the leaves.

The army of Saruman cowered in front of their tents, their eyes swinging wildly from the fearsome riders, who stood poised on the far side of the Dike, to the mysterious and forbidding forest. They knew not whether to flee or hurl themselves upon the approaching army.

Then, into the momentary silence, came the sound of hoof beats approaching over the rise of a hill which formed the eastern wall of the entrance to Helm's Deep. There appeared then what seemed to be a miraculous vision: a man clad in white, his long snowy hair and beard seeming as one with the shining brilliance of the white horse upon which he rode. The sun rising behind him lent an aura of luminous splendor to his raiment and all on the floor of the chasm could not but stare at him in awe.

Nimoë almost wept with joy when from behind the rider there appeared a full army of men, walking tall and proud, their golden hair blown freely in the breeze, swords drawn and shining in the dawn light. "We are saved!" she whispered, in astounded delight. "We are saved!"

Aragorn's thunderous voice broke the silence. "Mithrandir!" he cried, using Gandalf's Elven name, "Behold! The White Rider has come and brought with him the army of Erkenbrand!"

On the heels of Aragorn's proclamation, Shadowfax leapt forward, plunging down the side of the hill at such a pace that had he been any lesser horse he would have fallen. Gandalf brandished Glamdring in front of him and at the sight of his fearless charge, Theoden cried. "Attack!"

Nimoë felt Arod tense beneath her, then launch himself forward along with the rest of the mighty steeds of Rohan. Using all of her power to remain seated, Nimoë watched the battle unfold around her. It was truly short-lived. Faced with the wrath of the horse-lords, their numbers newly augmented by the arrival of the forces of Erkenbrand, and the unnerving presence of the strange forest, the orcs and wild men of Saruman scattered, unable to regain their previous assumption of victory.

Those who came against the mounted men found themselves cut down to the last orc, and Nimoë shuddered at the sight of mangled bodies littering the ground, being trampled under hoof. Many ran, though the only pathway available to them was through the eerie trees, and the screams which echoed forth from under their branches spoke to what took place within.

Within a matter of but a quarter of an hour, all creatures of evil had been swept from Helm's Deep, and with triumphant cries the men of Rohan greeted Gandalf and the army of Erkenbrand. Up from within the Deep came the sound of horses and running feet, and those who had been holed up in the caves came forward into the daylight to join in the celebration of their emancipation.

Legolas reached his hand out to Nimoë and supported her weight as she slid down off Arod's back, then he leapt down after her. Swept up in the exhilaration of being alive, when everything had seemed deathly bleak, he lifted her up against his chest and spun her round and round, sharing in her breathless laughter as her feet flew out in a broad circle of joy.

He set her down again and both were dizzy with the marvel of life, so they leaned in against each other to keep themselves standing, and brought their broadly smiling faces together for a kiss of celebration. The sounds of excitement swirled around them, but they were not aware of them as they melted into each other.

"Hrmph! No need to ask what you've been doing while I've been busy hewing orc necks!" came a gruff voice beside them.

"Gimli!" they cried in unison. Then Legolas reached out to grasp his shoulder. "You are alive, my friend! Truly this is a day full of wonders."

Nimoë bent down to wrap the Dwarf in a welcoming hug, but he fended her off with flailing arms. "Off! Get off! I don't know what you have done to my friend here, but I'll not have you doing it to me. No one hugs a Dwarf!" Through his protests though, she could see that his cheeks flushed, and he was truly pleased to find them alive and well.

Legolas wrapped an arm around Nimoë and beckoned to Gimli with his free hand. "Come. Let us find Mithrandir. If ever I have been more happy to see a friend unlooked for than I am to see him, I cannot remember that day."

The three companions set out then across the field, littered with the bodies of the enemy, to find Gandalf. Each was thankful to be alive, and they took joy in being together again, strong and hale, albeit exhausted, and ready to continue the fight against the shadow, for this battle had only been the beginning.

#

**Author's Note: Confusing? Comprehensible? Let me know if that made any sense whatsoever**** Thanks!**


	24. The Passing of a Friend

When the three friends found Gandalf he was deep in discussion with Theoden, Aragorn and Eomer. The first words they overheard were a response to a comment by Theoden. "Unlooked for? Did I not say to look for me at Helm's Deep?"

Aragorn gazed on him in wonder. "Perhaps when death is staring one in the face, it becomes difficult to wait patiently for those who have not given a time for their arrival. But tell me, what wizardry do you possess that you can cause trees to sprout full grown in the space of a single night?"

Gandalf cast a knowing glance over his shoulder at the forest which stood now silent. "That, sir, is none of my doing. There are powers at work here far more ancient and far more powerful than anything I could hope to match. The only wizardry performed here was by Shadowfax, whose feet are the fleetest on Middle-Earth. If not for his speed and endurance, never would I have been able to reach Erkenbrand and bring his army to this place in a timely fashion."

Legolas then broke into the conversation, standing tall and proud, with Nimoë held tightly against him. "What, then, must we do next? Do we ride to the aid of Gondor?"

"Nay, Legolas. I for one will ride to Isengard. Saruman has much to answer for, and I have the feeling that his circumstances are changing rapidly."

Aragorn spoke, "I am sure I speak for us all when I say that we will ride with you."

"Theoden?" asked Gandalf.

"Too many times have I scoffed at your counsel, Gandalf. This time I believe I have learned my lesson. I too would like to have words with Saruman." Theoden had shards of steel in his voice, which spoke to his intent for the rogue wizard.

#

Nimoë found that she could no longer listen to the making of plans, and her eyes traveled over the gory scene of the battlefield. She lifted her lips to Legolas' ear and whispered. "I am going to see if there are any injured who need my aid."

He squeezed her fingers in acknowledgement, and she moved away from his side. Almost all of the bodies littering the ground were orcs and the wild men of Saruman, but there were, scattered among them, men of Rohan. The surge of adrenaline which had overwhelmed her in the heat of battle, and later in the joy of finding herself saved from near certain death, was quickly leaving her system and her head swam. Grimly she pushed past the sensations of vertigo which threatened to overwhelm her, and began to survey the dead, hoping to find some still alive.

Nimoë stopped moving when she came upon the body of a tall man with golden hair. His face was covered by his cloak, and she bent down to pull the soiled material away, hoping to see that he was still breathing. What she saw caused the blood to rush away from her head and into her extremities. Her hands and feet tingled and darkness began to press in around her.

"No," the whisper was torn from her body, followed by an involuntary scream. "_No_!"

#

The six leaders of men, who stood in council, were brought up short by Nimoë's agonized scream. They spun to see what was amiss in time to see her straighten up abruptly over a corpse, then bring her hand to her head and topple backwards. Eomer, who was closest to her, sprang forward and was able to cushion her fall. On his knees he cradled her unconscious form, and Legolas leapt over the fallen to reach her side. The Elf took her hand in his, and stroked her cheek with the other hand. "Nimoë, wake up. Come back to us."

Both men felt relief sweep over them as her grey eyes fluttered open. "Nimoë, what happened?" asked Eomer.

She raised her hand, and it trembled as she pointed to the corpse which lay nearby. "Hama," she whispered.

Legolas rose and went towards the body. It was indeed Hama, loyal servant of Theoden and true friend of them all. His neck was half severed and his head lay at a grotesque angle. With deep reverence, Legolas reached down and gently moved Hama's lifeless head so that it lay in a more dignified position. Great remorse coursed through him as he passed his hand over the serving man's eyelids, shutting away their glassy stare from the harsh light of day.

Theoden, Gandalf, Gimli and Aragorn had stepped close behind him, and Gandalf swept off his peaked cap, while the others bowed their heads to honor the passing of so true and brave a man. Nimoë sobbed brokenly, burrowed into Eomer's reassuring arms, although he sought as much comfort as he offered. Hama had been a faithful friend and he would miss him terribly.

Theoden broke the silence, calling out to those nearby. "We must work quickly. Dig graves befitting the heroism of those who lie here slain and bury them with all honor. Pile the bodies of the enemy together. I fear we shall have to leave them, for we cannot burn the bodies. There is no wood, and I will not have one man raise an axe against the trees which stand here sentinel. Once that work is done you must ride to Edoras, to make ready to ride to the aid of Gondor.

"I will ride with Eomer, and one score other men, to Isengard. For now, those who will travel with me must take rest. We have not much time, but I deem that rest is more important than haste. We will return to the Hornburg to refresh ourselves, then ride forth to our fates."

Quietly the men surrounding the fallen Hama backed away, giving him their silent blessings. Legolas went to Arod and led him by the reins to where Eomer sat still upon the ground with his arms wrapped tightly around Nimoë, allowing her tears to wash away some small portion of his own grief. "Will you hand her up to me?" Legolas asked quietly.

Eomer nodded, although in his heart he regretted losing the feel of the gentle Elf maiden pressed close against him. Legolas mounted up onto the horse's wide back and Eomer rose, lifting Nimoë in his arms. He handed her up into Legolas' waiting embrace, then turned away, unwilling to watch them together. It was still too newly painful.

As Arod stepped softly away, picking his way with caution through the bodies of the dead, Eomer made his way to the side of Hama. He fell to his knees beside his friend, and took his cold hand within the grasp of his own fingers, so full of pulsing energy and life. Eomer's eyes were glistening with unshed tears, and his jaw twitched with the strain of holding his grief in check. "Hama, my faithful servant and my steadfast friend, know this now. Your death will be avenged. I will see to it that Saruman pays for the carnage he has wrought here upon the people of Rohan. I will wring the price of his treachery from his screaming body before I give him the mercy of death." A tear then fell from his eye and he dashed it away angrily, unwilling to show weakness, and he spoke in a tight, choked whisper, "You will be avenged!"

Gently he placed Hama's hands crossed upon his breast, and set his sword within his grasp. No longer able to contain his rage, Eomer leapt up and found his horse standing nearby. He vaulted onto its back and kicked it into a full out run, hoping to banish the terrible crushing emptiness which crashed down upon him like boulders in an avalanche, but knowing all the while that some of his pain would never be removed. Hama would be avenged, but he could never have Nimoë. All that he could do was to allow her to love and be loved, and never let her know of his own mangled heart, lying in ruins at her feet.


	25. Someone To Care For

In a deep haze, Nimoë clung to the front of Legolas' tunic, her tears soaking into the soiled fabric. The strength in her fingers slipped away, and she felt them lose their grip, but could not muster the will to worry that she would fall. Arod stepped gently and, in the arms of her love, there was no chance that she would slip from the horse's back. Even before they had reached the Hornburg, Nimoë felt her eyes slipping shut, and she did not try to fight the wave of sleep which swept over her, sending her from agonized present into peaceful oblivion.

Legolas guided the horse in through the gate of the Hornburg, and gently dropped Nimoë down into the arms of a waiting horseman. As soon as he was on the ground he took her limp form back into his own arms and brought her up two flights of stairs to a small room, which was occupied by a few other men sleeping.

He settled her into a corner and covered her with a nearby cloak, which had been lost during the fighting, then contemplated finding food and drink. Weariness was also hard upon him, for the battle had been long, but he resisted the temptation to sink into sleep until he had brought sustenance with him to where Nimoë rested. When she woke, she would need it. The only thing she had eaten in more than a week had been the small meal the morning they left Edoras.

A wave of protectiveness swept over him, looking down at her innocent fragility, and he thought fiercely that it was time someone cared for her hurts, rather than the other way around. She had been a tower of strength, but he was surprised that she had managed to last as long as she did before losing her fight to remain with the waking world.

He climbed to a higher level, where he was able to find some food. As he brought a skin of water and some stale bread, with some vegetables, down the spiraling stair, he again marveled at the tenacity of spirit that dwelt within of the daughter of Naldor. He tried to imagine how he would have fared in her stead, the deprivation and horror of her imprisonment, added to the rigors of battle, and found that he thought he could have done no better.

A voice hailed him as he passed a door. "Sir Elf!"

He turned and saw that he was passing in front of the infirmary. Swiftly he stepped inside. "Yes, can I help you?"

The man who greeting him was careworn, but his face was smiling. "I only wanted to send my thanks to the lady Nimoë. All of these men you see here will live, and it is all due to her healing. They were beyond the aid of any other here. Please give her our thanks, and tell her that we will always be in her debt."

"I will. It will lighten her heart," spoke the Elf. "I must go now, for I have left her alone, and I do not like to leave her so for long."

"Farewell then, and may fortune smile on your travels."

#

When Legolas returned to the room where he had left Nimoë, he found it more crowded than it had been. He stepped over the sleeping forms of the Rohirrim to make his way to the corner. He smiled when he saw that she had not so much as moved a muscle since he left. Good. She needed sleep now more than anything, and he was glad to see that she was getting it.

He bundled the food up in its cloth and lifted her head off of the stone floor, resting it down again on top of the food and the water skin. It would serve as a pillow well enough until it was eaten. Then he laid himself down beside her, and wrapped her in his arms. Finally, he also closed his eyes and surrendered to the sleep which would refresh him, leaving him strong for the continuing journey.

#

All too soon, Legolas awoke to Aragorn shaking him lightly by the shoulder. "We leave in an hour. Be ready."

Legolas nodded his understanding and the heir of Gondor left him. The Elf sat up and gently shook Nimoë, hoping to rouse her. Her body rocked with the motion, but remained limp, and her eyes did not even blink. "Nimoë, wake up. I have food. You need to eat." Still no response.

With a sigh, he lifted her up by her shoulders and leaned her up against him. Her head dropped forward against her chest. This would be more difficult than he had anticipated. With his long arm he grabbed the packet of food and unwrapped it. He took a drink of the water himself to make the flow of water easier to control, then tipped her head back, positioning the skin against her mouth.

It was like caring for an infant, he thought, as he forced water into her mouth. She swallowed reflexively, and soon was drinking deeply. Finally, the awareness of her actions seemed to seep into her unconsciousness, and her eyelids lifted halfway. She turned her head away from the skin, and Legolas drank what was left of the water while she watched him, almost as if she wasn't sure that she was really seeing him.

He handed her a chunk of the bread and slowly, mechanically, she chewed and swallowed, and as the food worked its way into her system, her eyes began to register some inkling of life within her. When the bread was gone, she grabbed a carrot, and ate that as well.

When all of the food was consumed, and both were satisfied, Legolas spoke, "We must go. We ride to Isengard. You can ride with me, and sleep as you need. With rest enough, and food, you will soon begin to feel yourself again."

She nodded, unable to muster the energy for a verbal response. They rose together and walked down the stairs to the stable room. The score of Rohirrim who would ride to Isengard were arriving as well, and they all mounted up onto their horses. Gimli was already seated behind Eomer, who sat with his back straight and stiff, appearing to challenge any to approach him. Gimli sat, looking exceedingly uncomfortable, behind the temperamental horse-lord.

Nimoë moved like a shade of the dead. Legolas was forced to keep a firm hand on her waist, for he was afraid she would either collapse to the floor, or keep on walking straight into a wall. He found Arod and lifted her up, mounting up behind her. As soon as he took the reins in his hand and wrapped his arms about her, her head fell back against him, and he knew that she was again asleep.

Aragorn approached on his chestnut stallion. "Legolas, should we bring Finduél with us? Do you think that she will be well enough to ride ere long?"

Legolas thought for only a moment and then he nodded. "She will. If she can rest for most of the ride to Isengard, and gets food and drink, I think that she will recover her strength quickly." He smiled at his close friend and admitted, "Much as I enjoy having her with me, I think that she will soon wish for some form of independence. She will feel herself less like a burden if she can ride on her own, and that will be a balm to her pride."

"So be it. I will have Finduél brought along. We are leaving momentarily." Then he wheeled his horse away, leaving the two Elves in peace.

Legolas dropped a kiss onto Nimoë's temple, and whispered in her ear, "Rest well and deeply, dear heart. I long to see you recovered, for it frightens me to see you laid so low. By the time we come to Isengard, I hope that you will be strong again. At least strong enough to continue on." He sighed, hoping that some part of her had heard and understood him, and he squeezed her tight. "Take comfort in knowing that tomorrow will be a new beginning."


	26. A New Begining and A Shadow Passes

An eternity later, Nimoë became aware of something cool and wet bathing her brow. The cut places stung as water melted into the scabs, but she felt a smile beginning as she realized that there was once again strength in her body. The damp cloth moved from her forehead to her cheek, and she opened her eyes.

"Legolas," she said, and her voice was once again strong, melodious and full, "No longer do you need to care for me like a babe in arms. I can tend to my own wounds."

Relief washed over him like a dam bursting. She was back from the unnatural long sleep, and she had come back to him whole. "I want to take care of you this little while longer, dear heart." His eyes appeared haunted as he continued, "I was so very afraid for you. Never have I seen a person sleep so long. I began to think that mayhap you would not wake, that you had suffered more trauma than it seemed. Hearing you speak, and seeing the brightness of your eyes, is like the rising of the sun after the long dark of the northern winter."

She laughed softly, "I must have frightened you indeed, for you to wax so eloquent." His hands continued his ministrations to her face, and she did not argue further. "Tell me, where are we? And what has happened?"

"We are camped past the Fords of Isen, and but a few miles from the gates of Isengard. It is as well that you have been sleeping, for the Fords were a graveyard. Terrible indeed was the battle that was fought there. What is strange, though, is that until but minutes ago, the Isen did not flow in its banks. The riverbed was empty, only a muddy mire following its course. And now the water runs free again. I understand it not." Legolas shook his head in confusion, then smiled. "You did miss one thing of great wonder. We saw Ents! Those shepherds of the trees walked past us out of the strange forest by Helm's Deep. Never did I think to see such things as legends walking, but these are strange times. Can you sit?"

Nimoë nodded. "I can." To prove her point, she raised herself on her arms, then sat up fully. Her eyes took in the darkness surrounding them, lit only by the glow of the waxing moon. "The Isen runs freely, you said?"

"I did."

She rose to her feet, and Legolas stood with her. "I think that I will bathe. More than just my face is crusted in blood, and I will feel the freer to be rid of it."

"Nimoë, the night is cold, and the Isen runs fast. Is that a wise choice?"

She only smiled at him, with a twinkle in her eye. "I will be quick." She turned away towards the river, then tossed back over her shoulder, "And you will chase away the chill, won't you?"

Legolas could only stare after her in amazed silence as she made her way to the banks of the Isen, then walked along them some distance from the encampment. He broke himself out of his shocked paralysis and chased after her.

Nimoë was waiting for him behind a stand of trees. "Turn your back while I bathe. I will call you when you may turn around again." Before he could speak, she raised her hand to forestall him. "Do not worry. I will call you if I need any aid."

"As you wish."

#

As Nimoë splashed into the river, the shock of the cold forced a quiet scream from her lips, which she immediately followed with, "It is only the cold, I am fine!" She worked quickly, scrubbing the grime of the past weeks off of her body, racing against the numbness which grew fast upon her in the chill grip of the river. Finally, when she thought she could stand no more, she submerged her head and, with dead fingers, she washed out her hair.

When she surfaced, she let her breath out in a whoosh, and scrambled back onto the bank. Legolas was still standing nearby, with his face dutifully averted, and she rubbed herself down with her undershirt. Finally, she threw on the rest of her clothing, although she was shivering so hard that she could hardly manage the buttons on the tunic. "I am ready, Legolas."

He turned around and cried out in concern, "Nimoë, you are blue!"

"Then come here and hold me close."

He needed no further invitation. He crossed the ground between them with purposeful strides, and pulled her into his arms. Her shivering rattled him, and he rubbed her back and arms with brisk strokes, hoping to get her blood flowing again. She burrowed as close against him as she could, her arms clenched tightly around his back.

After long moments her shivering slowed, and their embrace became more gentle. The moonlight shone down, sending ghostly beams through the canopy of trees. When Nimoë raised her head off of Legolas' chest, one of the pale rays fell full across her face. Legolas' breath caught in his throat when faced with her beauty. The moonlight only accentuated the paleness of her hair, wet though it was, and the soft shadows highlighted the contours of her face.

"Legolas," she whispered, softly as the fall of thistledown, suddenly serious after her earlier playful teasing, "Thank you for all that you have done for me. I know that I would not be standing still upon this earth if it had not been for you. You saved my life when the orcs broke through the Gate at Helm's Deep, and you saved my soul from darkness when all seemed bleakest. That I am as you see me, strong and unbroken, is because of you. I will be in your debt for as long as I live."

Her words moved him and he brought his fingers up to trace the line of her jaw, which glowed in the moonbeam's light. "There is to be no talk of debt between us. You are a part of me. I cannot imagine my life without you in it."

"I feel the same way." She hesitated for a moment before asking, "Does it not frighten you?"

He cocked his head to the side. "Frighten?"

"Yes, frighten. We have known each other for such a short time. How can we feel as strongly as we do? How can love blossom in the space of a few short weeks? We have lived for centuries, and not known love like this." Her words tumbled out of her like a cataract, not to be stilled once begun.

"Hush, dear heart," whispered Legolas, and he gathered her again into his arms, holding her cradled against his heart. "I understand why you are frightened. Listen to me now and hear my words. For centuries I have heard the tales, sung in ballads in the halls of our people, telling the story of love, stronger than life, that springs between two souls. I have heard, but I have not understood. Such a thing seemed as alien to me as growing a third arm.

"My mother always counseled that some time, when I had given up all hope of love, I would find it come to me when I least expected it. Unlooked for. Unsought. Like all young men, I did not heed her words, and I went often with friends, searching for love, as if it were something I could hunt down and capture. My companions found wives; women that were beautiful, that they respected and valued as friends, but I saw that their hearts were not wholly given. I could not reconcile myself to such a love, and so I finally gave up the hunt, resigned to a long life of bachelorhood. My mother, it appears, was right, for even before I knew you to be a woman I felt myself drawn to be with you, to spend time talking with you and sharing my thoughts, although love was the last thing I was looking for."

He stroked her hair comfortingly as he continued, "I believe that there is within each of us a spirit, a soul, which waits patiently until it finds the one other with whom it is perfectly matched. And when it finds its mate, it clings to it like iron to a lodestone. We are powerless to resist it even if we wished, which I assure you I do not. You are the other half of my soul, which I did not know was missing until you came into my life. I will move heaven and earth to keep you with me now that I have found you."

Nimoë raised her head off of his chest and gazed up at him, her eyes swimming with tears which glistened it the moonlight. "Legolas, you move me beyond words. That you would liken our love to the great loves sung in the halls of kings..." A smile born of springtime spread across her face. "I will fear no longer."

He placed a soft kiss upon her upturned lips and then, regretfully, he moved to guide her back to the encampment. "Tonight you must try to rest. I know that you have done little but sleep for the past day, but more rest cannot harm you. There is still another hour or two before daylight."

"I will not argue with you. I would like to be as strong as possible before coming in front of Saruman. That is a name with the power to make me tremble, simply to hear it spoken."

Legolas laughed. "Gandalf hints that things might not be well with Saruman. Ah well, we shall know soon enough."

They nestled down to the mossy ground together, near to Gimli and Aragorn, and Legolas fell swiftly into slumber. Nimoë, however, found that sleep would not come easily, despite her still present, though greatly diminished, exhaustion. It seemed to her that things were too perfect, and despite Legolas' reassurances, she worried that soon something would happen to upset the beautiful, surreal wonder in which she now dwelt.

She nestled close against him, absorbing the rhythm of his breathing, and watching the moon slide relentlessly across the jet black sky. Without warning, a dark shadow fell like a curtain between the ground where they rested and the pale moon, which was blotted from the sky. A great dread gripped her heart as the darkness swept past overhead, swirling like dead leaves in a great storm, and inhuman wails sounded throughout the still air.

Startled cries sounded from the men sleeping nearby as the cold fear seeped into their dream states, and they woke to the chilling vision of black and crimson clouds, flowing like blood across the sky. Nimoë shrank back, trying to melt into the ground, to hide herself from the sentient menace of the night terror. She felt Legolas' hand grip her arm, and she turned her eyes away from the horrible sight, to meet his own, which were hard, almost black in the night. They did not register fear, only the bravery of one ready to defend his love from any threat. His jaw was tight, and Nimoë felt the fear recede at the promise of protection she read in his face.

Then, as quickly as it had come, the shadow passed onward to the west. Moonlight again illuminated the camp. Murmurs swirled about in the air, as the men sought reassurance in the fellowship of their friends. There would be no more sleep that night. The darkness had been too thorough, too alive and full of hostility, to allow for innocent shutting of eyes.

Legolas did not release his grip upon Nimoë, and his face did not lighten. Anger burnt within him, like a smoldering flame, that the shadow dared to come so near, to bring fear to this precious woman who looked back at him so trustingly.

"Legolas, Nimoë, let us break our fast early. I think that there will be no more rest this night," spoke Aragorn, who had approached them unnoticed.

Legolas stared for a moment longer into Nimoë's wide grey eyes, promising her that he would keep her safe, then he turned to Aragorn. "We will join you shortly."


	27. Conversations of a Personal Nature

A fire had been hastily built, in an attempt to chase away the lingering sensation of wrongness that had descended along with the cloud. Men huddled around it, hunched into their cloaks to keep themselves warm, and the conversations were muted. Legolas and Nimoë walked over to the fireside and took a seat next to Gimli and Eomer who were trying to appear unruffled, but their swiftly darting eyes, watching the sky and the area outside the firelight, belied their apparent nonchalance.

Gimli looked over at them and asked, "With your Elven sight, could you tell what it was that dwelt within that thing? Truly I was chilled through to my very bones."

Both Elves shook their heads. Legolas replied, "It was too well shrouded to tell anything. You would do better to ask Gandalf." Then he paused, looking over the assembled company. "Where is Gandalf?"

Eomer pointed off into the darkness. "He is with Theoden and Aragorn. I think they are discussing what will happen when we reach Isengard." He brought his eyes to rest upon Nimoë, and he smiled. "I see that you have recovered. I am glad." He face grew serious as he continued. "I cannot tell you how much the knowledge of your suffering has weighed upon me. I should have done more to keep you from the eyes of Wormtongue. I should have guessed his reaction to your association with Galadriel. Can you ever forgive me for my stupidity?"

Nimoë smiled at him reassuringly. "I have long since forgiven you Eomer. It is true that I suffered much, but it seems that I will recover completely. You did what you thought was right, bringing me before your king, and in happier days nothing untoward would have happened. There is indeed no part of your actions which requires my forgiveness. You need only to forgive yourself."

The crackling of the fire was the only sound then for many long moments. "I do not know that I will ever be able to do that, Lady. I will strive, however, to work off my debt to you. If ever there is anything that you need, do not hesitate to ask for it."

Nimoë reached across Legolas to grasp Eomer's hand in her own. "Eomer, I do not know what I can say to you that will relieve you of this burden of guilt. It avails you naught! You have been a friend to me. You brought me away from the gate of Helm's Deep when I would have stayed. I see now that it was the right choice, although I did not understand it then. You shared your grief with me when Hama was found brutally slain. Does not this counter any debt you may feel you owe? I tell you truly, Eomer, I wish nothing for you but happiness, and I hold you no grudge. What more can I say?"

Eomer's heart had caught in his throat when he felt her slim hand take his own, which suddenly seemed large and unwieldy when he compared it to the graceful, strong fingers of the Elf Prince seated beside him. Why had he ever thought that he might stand a chance with this lady? This Elf! He was a mortal, destined to die in a matter of decades. Such a time was to her like the lifespan of a flower, from sprout to bud to glorious blossom, then just as quickly to withering rot.

Still, she was so unfailingly kind! Always she made it her purpose to bring happiness to him, never standing aloof, cold and cynical, like the few other Elf women he had ever met. How could he fail to respond to her forthright manner and luminous face?

He raised his eyes to meet hers and managed, through a brutal struggle of will, to smile back, showing none of the turmoil which roiled inside him. "If it will ease your heart to hear me say that I will put the whole thing behind me, then I will do so. I will not speak of it again." A flutter of white caught the corner of his eye, and he sat straight, releasing Nimoë's hand. "Gandalf is coming."

#

Gandalf, Theoden and Aragorn came up to the rim of the light which radiated from the fire. Gandalf spoke, his voice low, but clearly audible. "Dawn will come in less than an hour. We will mount up and ride. The shadow which passed over us I do not believe to have come from Saruman. I think perhaps it was directed towards him. Keep your wits about you, for I know not what we will find when we arrive at Isengard. And beware the voice of Saruman. Great is his power, and the greatest when he can work his wiles upon you with his words. Hold fast to what you know, and do not bend to his will. That is all that I can tell you. Go to your horses."

All of the men at the fire arose, and two began casting dirt over the flames, smothering them until they were dead. Legolas turned to Nimoë and told her, "Finduél was brought with us on this journey. Do you feel strong enough to ride?"

"I do. Thank you for having brought my horse. I understand the need to have ridden upon Arod with you, when I was unable to sit on my own, but I was afraid that I would continue to be a burden upon you when I was well."

"You will never be a burden, but I thought that you might feel as you do. You will stay close to me, though, won't you?"

Nimoë almost laughed at the pleading note it his voice. "Of course I will." They had reached the horses by that time, and Nimoë greeted Finduél with a caress upon his noble nose. Mounting was a bit of a challenge since, like all Elves, she rode without saddle, but, unlike all Elves, she was not unusually tall. Legolas finally offered his hand as a boost, and she found herself high over the ground, with a frisky horse between her legs. She buried her hands into his mane and held on with dogged determination.

"Are you sure you are alright?" asked Legolas.

Eomer's laugh rang out behind them and they turned to face him. "Have you not seen her ride before, Legolas? Not the most comfortable one to watch, but she will not fall." He then addressed Nimoë. "Would you accept some instruction from one who may say, with some little modesty, that he knows something of the ways of horses?"

Relief washed over her face and she smiled back at him. "Any little thing you could teach me would not be taken amiss."

#

Seeing that Nimoë was taken well in hand, Legolas went to find Arod. Hearing his familiar nicker, the Elf followed the sound to the horse's side. Aragorn was sitting astride his own horse nearby and once Legolas had mounted he walked Arod over to him. "Aragorn, I wish a word with you."

"What is it, Legolas?"

Keeping his voice low, so that he would not be overheard, he spoke, "When we come to Isengard, if it is at all possible, I do not want Nimoë to come before Saruman. He does not know of her presence among us and I dearly wish to keep it that way. Will you stand beside me in this if it comes to such a time?"

Aragorn nodded his understanding. "I will. The less that Saruman knows about us, the better. Nimoë's presence is something which could work in our favor as long as she is kept secret, although somehow I think that was not why the thought crossed your mind."

Legolas spoke simply. "I love her."

Aragorn reached out and clasped his friend about the arm. "Legolas, I am happy for you both. I wish you only the best. But do not think ill of me, for I must caution you in this. If the time comes that you must chose between Nimoë and the quest, you must chose the quest. The fate of Middle-Earth could depend upon you. You must not allow your heart to rule your mind."

Angrily, Legolas shook free of Aragorn's grip. "Do not speak to me of this. It is not something I wish to think about."

Aragorn remained unshaken by the Elf's outburst. "I know of what I speak, Legolas. I had to leave Arwen behind, and do not make the mistake of thinking that choice was easily made. Every fiber in me screamed out against it. But it is my duty to fight the shadow, to take my rightful place as King of Gondor." He took a breath to calm himself. "Go now back to your love. Take comfort in the time that you have with her. But if the time comes, do not turn your back on your duty."

Aragorn spurred his horse away, leaving Legolas staring after him, turmoil raging within him. Could he do it? In the heat of a desperate moment, could he sacrifice Nimoë for the sake of the quest? His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, and the knuckles were white with the power of his distress. Could he make that choice?

The rest of the company had already moved out by the time he was able to calm himself to the point of rational thought. Soon he would know the fate that would befall them at Isengard and then decisions would have to be made. Decisions that he feared would break his heart. He kicked into Arod's side with more power than was necessary and the great beast leapt forward, chasing down the rest of the company, on the final leg of the trek to Isengard.


	28. Isengard

Eomer had spent his time well, and Nimoë was soon riding, if not with confidence, then at least without looking like she had to cling with every muscle in her body to Finduél's back. Their time had been spent in lighthearted banter, but soon the seriousness of their errand began to press down upon them, and they rode side by side in silence.

A heavy mist began to settle into the low valley of the Isen, and it seemed that it bore with it the chillness of the high mountains. Nimoë drew her cloak tight around her and shivered. Heavy droplets adhered to the fabric, and to her hair and face. With her free hand she wiped her eyes, temporarily ridding them of the mist which clung tenaciously to her eyelashes, distorting her vision. She glanced about her, looking for Legolas. He had been missing for a long time, and she was worrying.

Eomer's voice broke into her thoughts. "He can take care of himself, you know."

Embarrassed at being caught, Nimoë brushed aside her concern. "I was not worried. Only looking to see where he might have gotten to."

"Do not lie to me, Nimoë. Friends do not do such things to each other. You are concerned about him, so do not bother hiding it."

Her shoulders drooped, and she nodded. "I am sorry. It is just that it is not like him to disappear. He was so insistent that I stay with him, and now he is gone. It is just…" She turned her face to Eomer and her confusion was clear to see. "I do not know what to think."

If she were any other woman, Eomer would have offered his shoulder to cry on, but he knew better than to do that for Nimoë. "I am sure that there is some logical explanation. Do not worry. He will return."

Nimoë nodded, but did not reply. The fog pressed closer still around her as she tried futilely to ignore the sensation burning at the back of her skull that something was terribly wrong. Just as she was about to wheel Finduél about, to ride back the way they had come and find Legolas, heavy hoofbeats rang through the dense mist.

Arod, with Legolas upon his back, seemed to materialize from nowhere. First there was only swirling fog, and then they were there, pulling up abruptly at her side. Legolas gave her a tight smile, but his eyes were focused far away.

"I told you he would come back!" called Eomer, but as he looked more closely at the Elf Prince, he was not sure that he was back at all.

Nimoë spoke his name quietly, afraid of his response. "Legolas, what is wrong?"

He shook his head. "It is nothing. Do not trouble yourself about me."

"But I want to help you…"

Legolas cut her off with a brisk wave of his hand, and his voice was harsh as he forestalled her words. "It is nothing, I tell you! Leave it be!"

Nimoë felt tears rise up unbidden, and she stifled them with a strangled sob. Unsure of her ability to keep herself from crying if she remained in Legolas' presence, she kicked Finduél into a brisk trot, fleeing from the Elf who was so suddenly and inexplicably remote.

#

Nimoë's sob was like a dagger into Legolas' heart, but he found that he could not follow her. He could not explain to her the truths which had been set before him. It was too immediate, too harshly real a possibility.

He sensed Eomer drawing close without looking up from Arod's neck. Eomer's voice was pointed as he asked, "What are you thinking, Elf?! Do you not see that you are hurting her?"

Legolas replied in a choked whisper, "I do not wish to discuss this, Eomer."

Anger welled up in the horse-lord and he spoke fiercely. "I care not if you wish to discuss it! You are frightening Nimoë and causing her pain. I will not stand by and watch you break her heart. I ask you again, for I can only assume that there must be some good reason, what do you think you are doing?!"

Legolas looked straight at the horse-lord then, boring deep into his soul. "If I speak of this to you, will you swear never to breathe a word of it to Nimoë?"

"I will."

The Elf drew a deep, shuddering breath, then he began to unburden his heart to Eomer, who rode patiently at his side, not speaking, but offering a sympathetic ear.

#

Nimoë quickly caught up with Theoden, Aragorn and Gandalf, with Gimli riding behind him on Shadowfax. They nodded to acknowledge her arrival, but did not speak. Silence reigned until they came upon a monumental black pillar at the side of the path. Upon the pillar was a giant sculpture of a long white hand. Nimoë unconsciously drew away from the imposing obelisk.

"We are almost to Isengard. Keep your eyes open," spoke Gandalf.

Uneasiness gnawed at Nimoë, and she longed to return to Legolas' side, but his earlier outburst had frightened her so that she could not bring herself to seek him out. Turbulent thoughts tumbled about in her mind and she stamped them down with irritation. She was not a fool! Nor was she a coward. Whatever was to be faced, she could do it well enough alone.

Gandalf signaled that they should wait for the rest of the company to catch up to them. "We should be together when we enter Isengard. There is strength in numbers."

Soon all were present, and Nimoë was uncomfortably aware of Legolas' gaze drifting ever towards her. It seemed that he could not keep his eyes away from her, but he made no move to join her.

What was wrong?! She wanted to scream with frustration, but kept her ire buried deep inside herself. Gimli turned his head from herself to Legolas and back, trying to understand what was happening between his two friends, then shrugged his shoulders, unable to come up with an explanation.

When all were gathered, they rode forth, and came to the gates of Isengard. There they reined up and stared in flabbergasted wonder at what lay before them. The once mighty fortress had been utterly destroyed. Slabs of granite lay strewn about as if tossed by giants of incomprehensible size, and what little was left standing was but islands in a muddy quagmire.

Their eyes suddenly were drawn to a movement near at hand. The riders of Rohan regarded the being facing them with amazement written on their faces. He was only as tall as their waists, but had the appearance of one full grown. The stranger spoke then, "Hail Theoden, King of Rohan! My companion and I have been bade to await your arrival and to welcome you to Isengard with all the honor due to your station. You are welcome in this place and any thing that you may need shall be put at your disposal." He stopped then and looked straight at Gandalf. "Was that grand enough, Gandalf?"

The laugh which had begun deep inside of the wizard bubbled its way to the surface. "Well done, indeed, Master Meriadoc!" His smile included Pippin, who had also risen from the rock upon which they had been eating while awaiting the party. "I see that the two of you are indeed well, as I suspected. But tell me truly, is it Saruman that bids you to welcome the king to his fortress?"

"Saruman, alas for him, has had some uninvited guests. He has not been disposed to come out of the tower of Orthanc. Nay, it is Treebeard who has set us to this post," replied Merry.

Legolas slid down off the back of Arod, and helped Gimli down from Shadowfax, for he looked as if he would tumble down soon, if no aid came to him. Together they crossed the ground between themselves and the two young Hobbits and Gimli shook their hands heartily, while Legolas wrapped them in a welcoming embrace. Legolas cried out, "My friends, it does my heart good to see you again! And quite well, I might add. Why, you have grown since last I laid eyes upon you!"

Gimli stood back to get a better look at them and nodded. "Indeed you have. And quite some chase you have led us on. I sense that there is a long tale to be told when there is time for it. But have you nothing else to say to us?"

Pippin spoke up then. "Indeed we do. Treebeard bids Gandalf and Theoden to attend him away at the south wall of Isengard, if they please."

"What say you, Theoden? Will you come with me to meet with Treebeard? He is also called Fangorn, and is the oldest living creature in this world," spoke Gandalf.

"I will, and Eomer will join me."

#

So the King of Rohan and his heir, along with Gandalf, went to find Treebeard. The other Rohirrim went inside the gates, to see the ruin wrought upon their hated enemy. Aragorn had joined Legolas and Gimli with the Hobbits, but Nimoë remained aloof. Finduél pranced under her, but she did not dismount. She felt strangely ill at ease. Of course, she was elated to see Merry and Pippin alive and well, but she had not known them well before they had been taken captive. The others were all dear friends, and their reunion was heartfelt. She felt that she would be an intruder among them.

Unsure of what to do, she began to lead Finduél towards the swamp that was now Isengard. A voice calling her name stopped her short. "Nimoë! Won't you come and be properly introduced to these young Hobbits?"

Looking over her shoulder she replied. "I will, Aragorn, and thank you for the invitation."

She slid off of Finduél's back and stepped carefully through the mud to join them. Legolas kept his eyes averted from her, and she tried unsuccessfully to ignore the empty feeling in the pit of her stomach, which was born of desertion.

Aragorn spoke, "Merry, Pippin, may I introduce you to Nimoë, daughter of Naldor and Glorfiane of Mirkwood, apprentice to Lady Galadriel, and better known to you as Nimrodel."

The eyes of the two young hobbits opened wide and Pippin's jaw literally dropped open. "Nimrodel is a lady Elf! There is a tale here as well!" he cried.

Gimli eyed the empty plates upon the rock and said, "It seems to me that you have been eating. I am more than eager to hear and tell tales, but first, tell us if you have more food. It has been long since we have had a full meal."

Merry jumped down off the rock and beckoned them to follow. "Food we have in plenty, and fine wine! But most importantly, we have good pipe-weed! Come with me and we will share our bounty and our tales, while the high and mighty discuss matters of import."

They all followed after them but, in her turmoil, Nimoë did not pay close enough attention to her footing and she slipped in the mud. Almost she fell flat on her back in the sticky stuff, but Legolas, who was walking behind her, caught her up in his arms.

He did not release her immediately, but caught her eyes with his own, which were haunted by some unspoken trauma, and asked, "Are you hurt?"

Her eyes never broke their gaze as she replied, "I am fine. But, Legolas, what about you? Please won't you tell me what is wrong?"

The Elf Prince assisted her to find firm footing again, then dropped his hands away from her as if she would burn him if he touched her longer. "I cannot speak of it. Please let it be."

His voice was so wretchedly pleading, as if some inner part of him were being eaten away by acid, that Nimoë let the subject drop. No longer was she afraid of him, but she grew frightened for him. Some terrible thing was destroying him from the inside, but she could not begin to guess what. And worse even than that, he was shutting her away. He would not accept her help.

As she followed the others deeper into Isengard, she resolved to find some way to help him. Nothing was more important to her than his happiness, and she would do what she could to ease his suffering. If only she knew what was causing it!


	29. Tales and a Decision

Plates were set before the four who had just arrived at Isengard, and they were piled high with hearty food: sausages, vegetables, and cheese. Merry poured wine, which Nimoë sipped slowly, savoring the crisp tartness of it. Food in her stomach was a sensation which she relished, having almost forgotten what it felt like. Still it could not fully ease the empty ache which had lodged itself in her belly, born of concern for Legolas.

Once they had all eaten, they went out to the front of the gatehouse where they had consumed their feast. Pippin found that he had in his pocket a spare pipe, which he had brought with him all the way from the Shire, and he gave it to Gimli. The Hobbits and the Dwarf puffed away at the excellent pipe-weed, which had come all the way from the Southfarthing. Aragorn reclined against a wall and bade the Hobbits tell them the tale of what had happened since their capture.

It was a long and amazing tale. Merry and Pippin related that they had managed to save themselves from the orcs during the fight between the servants of Saruman and the riders of Rohan. From there they had entered Fangorn forest, where they had made the acquaintance of Treebeard, the old Ent. "They do not eat, Ents. Only do they drink, and only the water of the Entwash. Strangely satisfying it was, and it seems that it aids in growth, for as you have noticed, we are taller than when we entered the forest," piped up Pippin.

The Ents had gathered together in council and after a great debate, they were roused to take action against Saruman. "Roused Ents are a frightful thing indeed. There was a great Hoom-ing and Hom-ing, and they moved with deadly intent upon Isengard. All the damage that you have seen done here was wrought by the Ents. Their fingers are as strong as roots, and they worked their way into the cracks of the walls, destroying them as easily as time and weather melt away stone," spoke Merry.

Pippin interrupted him and continued the narrative, "Then, they managed to reroute the Isen! All of Isengard was flooded, and very nearly were we swept away ourselves. Only by climbing to the top of the highest building left standing did we save ourselves from the maelstrom. They wanted to wash away all signs of orcs from this place, and I surely believe that they have done it."

Gimli grunted, "That explains why the banks of the Isen were so long empty. A good use for a river, I say!" Then he sucked deeply upon his pipe.

Merry spoke again, "So as you see, Saruman has had his hands full. He cannot leave the tower, and all that he has is one man with him, a skulking type of man, who goes by the name of Grima Wormtongue."

Legolas leapt up from his seat. "Wormtongue is here?! Take me where I can find him, for he and I have unfinished business."

Nimoë felt her heart stop on hearing the name spoken. Memories of him screaming, "Bind her mouth!" flooded over her, accompanied by an overwhelming sensation of walls closing in around her. Blackness crept in around her vision, and she swayed slightly, clutching at her spinning head with one hand, while the other clenched the ground spasmodically.

The sounds of voices around her were strangely muffled, and she felt as if they were not a part of her world, only the buzzing of blood in her ears. "Legolas, you cannot reach him within the tower... It is impregnable, even to the Ents, or believe me that it would also be lying in ruins… I will find a way. He has much to answer for…"

Dank smells filled Nimoë's nostrils, and she began to shake as the dungeon formed about her, as patently real to her hallucinating mind as if she were back in that chamber of horror. She clutched her hands about herself and rolled over onto the ground, trying to bury herself away from the crushing darkness. A pitiful sob was wrenched from her throat.

#

The sob filtered past the rage that filled Legolas and he glanced over at Nimoë. She was curled in upon herself, her face pressed into the earth, grasping her arms tightly to her body as if trying to hold herself to this world. Before he had time to think he was on his knees beside her, with his hand laid upon her back, asking, "Nimoë, what is wrong?"

Her stormy grey eyes looked up, but they did not see him. They were plainly observing some other, more frightening reality. "The darkness is coming closer… I cannot breathe… The darkness!"

Legolas pulled her up off the ground, holding her trembling body tightly. "Nimoë, you are with friends. Whatever you are seeing, it is not real. Wormtongue cannot reach you. I will never let him harm you again."

Seeing that there was no response to his cajoling words, he stopped speaking and brought his lips down onto hers. All of his soul he poured into the caress, and all of the strength of his heart. If anything would break past the delirium which beset his dearest, it would be the power of his love, and he allowed every part of his spirit to flow into the kiss, offering all that he had to give.

#

Slowly the blinding darkness began to fade, and in its place was a brilliant light, suffused with every color of the rainbow, although the warm yellow of sunlight was the most prevalent. Nimoë reached out with all of her being to embrace the light, to absorb it into her body, chasing away the chill dread which had lain upon her heart.

Awareness of her body began to creep back, and she found that she was trembling, but not with fear. With joy! Her hands were wrapped into the folds of a soft tunic, which was warm with the heat of the body within it. The smell of cedar and spices wafted up to her, and her eyes flew open.

On seeing her open her eyes, and sensing the return of her conscious mind, Legolas broke off his kiss. His hand sought her cheek and he stroked it softly. "Are you back with us?" he whispered.

Nimoë nodded slowly, not wanting to speak, for fear that if she did he would leave her alone again. To be back in his embrace was like returning home and she did not want to chance driving him away. His eyes, so close to hers, were pools of liquid blue, as clear as a cloudless sky. So beautiful, she thought. So amazingly pure.

His voice was kind and comforting as he spoke, "It was Wormtongue, was it not? Hearing his name spoken brought you back to the dungeon and the torment you faced there. Do not fear, for once I have him within my sights he shall not live long enough to breathe, let alone hurt you again, dear heart. If he dares to show his face, my arrow shall pierce him through."

Murmurs swirled about them, and Nimoë caught a few words of it, "What is happening? Are they lovers?"

It was Pippin who had spoken, and Merry shushed him briskly, "Do not ask such questions. It is unseemly."

Pippin refused to be dissuaded. "But look at them!"

Reluctantly, Nimoë pushed herself away from the Elf Prince. "Look at us, indeed. I am so very sorry. Such weakness is an embarrassment to me. That hearing a name spoken can send me to another place… It is humiliating. Please, try to forget what you saw. I prefer to keep my weaknesses private, if possible."

Pippin raised his hands in front of him. "I saw nothing. Did you Merry? Aragorn? Gimli?"

They all shook their heads, and they looked so comical in their feigned nonchalance that Nimoë could not help but laugh. Once begun, the chuckles could not be stopped, and soon she was laughing so hard that she was clutching her stomach, unable to fully breathe. She knew that if Legolas was not by her side, that the hysterical laughter could well have turned into tears, but she took comfort in his presence and was finally able to control herself.

#

Legolas stood and offered his hand to assist her in rising. She took it gratefully and they turned to face the others. "Is it not time to be joining Gandalf?" he asked.

Aragorn nodded. "Of course. Merry, Pippin, lead us onward."

Legolas kept Nimoë's hand clasped firmly in his own. It shook him to realize how much seeing her suffering hurt him as well. He knew that he could not have stopped himself from going to her aid if he had wanted to. Some primitive instinct deep inside of him drove him to protect her at any cost.

Aragorn's earlier words of counsel seemed to ring in his ears, "If you are forced to chose between Nimoë and the quest, you must chose the quest. It is your duty." He knew now that if the choice came of saving Nimoë or completing the quest, he could not help but try to save his love. That left him with only one choice. He had to leave her behind.

And in doing so, he risked losing her forever.


	30. Orthanc

They approached Gandalf, Theoden, and Eomer, who stood speaking with Treebeard. Nimoë gazed in wonder upon the ancient Ent. His rough bark skin had been gouged in many places. Apparently Isengard had not fallen without resistance, but no orc arrow could pierce the skin of an Ent. Nimoë had often heard tales of the Ents, the shepherds of the trees, but had never expected to see one in her lifetime, long as it might grow to be. Wonders abounded in this turbulent time.

Eomer noticed their approach and hailed them. "Welcome, friends! Now that all are gathered, the time has come to have speech with Saruman. I look forward to bending his ear with the many ways I plan to cause him suffering before I kill him."

Gandalf was quick to chastise him. "Eomer, you know not whereof you speak. Do not think that simply because Saruman is imprisoned within his tower that he is powerless. You must be on your guard. He will seek to twist your heart with his honeyed words, and you will find your mouth speaking words which you cannot recognize as your own. Do not be so foolish as to threaten him. Among us, only I have the strength to truly match power with him, and it may be that I will have to. Keep your own counsel before him, and hope that you will be spared." The aged wizard cast his glance around at all of the others "The same goes for the rest of you. Do not draw undue attention to yourselves."

On hearing those words spoken, Legolas felt it was an opportune moment to speak to Nimoë. "Dear heart, I want you to remain behind when we go to speak with Saruman. He does not know of your presence among us, since you were not with us when his fell messengers spied upon our journey from Rivendell. I would that he remain in ignorance."

Nimoë shook her head vehemently. "Do you forget that Wormtongue is with him? Surely he would have told his tale to his master, and my presence is no secret. There is no point in my hiding. I would like to look upon the face of him who has caused so much pain to this land."

Legolas looked to Aragorn, pleading for his assistance in convincing Nimoë to remain behind. The heir of Gondor spoke, "Nimoë, can you not see that your presence will only serve as a distraction to Legolas? If the voice of Saruman is as powerful as it is rumored, then he will need all his faculties about him when he faces him. Would you rob him of that?"

Nimoë opened her mouth to speak, but found no words. She paused, then tried again. "You would deny me the right to see the man who has hurt so many? Who has caused the death of a friend and many valiant soldiers, some of which passed away even as I held their hands and offered them final comfort?" She turned her gaze full on the Elf Prince. "Legolas, am I truly so much of a distraction to you? That you cannot function fully when I am with you? Are you not stronger than that?"

He dropped his glance, unable to face the accusing look in her wide grey eyes. He knew that she was right. He was stronger than that. Through countless centuries he had lived as a warrior, trained in the ways of battle. One woman should not be able to drive away all of that preparation. But he could not say with certainty that she would not do just that, and if there was a hint of uncertainty, it would not be a lie to confess the weakness, especially if it would in turn keep her out of harm's way. "Please, Nimoë. Please do this for me. Please give me the peace of knowing you are safe."

Frustration and anger welled up in her breast. She knew with conviction that he was stretching the truth, using his feigned weakness as a tool to keep her away. Unwilling to argue further, she acquiesced. "Very well. I will not come with you to Orthanc." She chose her words carefully. "I will not come with you, and you may be comforted knowing that Saruman will not see me."

Legolas raised his eyes then, and they shone with relief. "Thank you, Nimoë. You ease my heart."

Then the rest of the company walked away, deeper into Isengard. The Hobbits were introducing Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas to Treebeard when they left the range of her hearing. Just before she looked away, Eomer turned to look back at her with an inscrutable look upon his face. Although she knew that to him she was only a blur, he was to her as clear as if he stood just in front of her. She watched in wonder as he shook his head at her, and his eyes held a pleading look. Uncomfortably, she realized that he had read her intentions. He knew that she would follow them to Orthanc.

#

Nimoë had known from the start that she would go to Orthanc, whether with her companions or not. Gandalf had made their danger patently clear, and she could not allow them to go without the small bit of protection she could offer. Although she was but a novice user of the Elven magic, she was able to channel a tremendous amount of power. She would find a way to use her song to protect her friends.

As she walked, she wracked her brain, trying to call up the words of power which she had heard her mistress use, but had never had a chance to practice herself. In order to work upon the minds of others, great strength and control was necessary. Galadriel had never taught her the ancient words, for she was still very young, and the queen feared that the power that would transfer through her would be too much for her to control, that she would lose some vital part of herself.

On silent feet she approached the muddy moat which was present around the tower. She crept up the back of a toppled pillar which stood at an angle leaning in towards Orthanc, and laid herself against it, only allowing her eyes and the top of her head to peek over the top. There was a clear view from her position, but she was far enough away that it was unlikely any would see her.

Already Saruman was out upon a parapet, speaking to those below him. The Rohirrim had come to take up positions behind the members of the Fellowship, Treebeard, Eomer and Theoden. Clearly the magic of Saruman's voice was working upon them, for they looked about them suspiciously, as if thinking that perhaps there were traitors among them. Traitors who were to blame for the deaths at Helm's Deep. For surely one so kindly and wise as the old man in the tower could not be responsible for such a thing.

Nimoë blocked out his words. Since they were not directed at her, it was not difficult. She took a deep breath to steady herself, then began to sing. The song began slowly, softly, as she reached far back into her memory to dredge the words forward onto her tongue. All of her thought she focused upon Saruman, hoping to interrupt the flow of his words, to cause his mind to lose its clarity, to send him mad.

It was the only spell which she could remember clearly enough to hope to perform it. Once she had completed the song, she began to repeat it, adding volume and power. None would be aware of hearing it, as it was cloaked in words of disguise, but it felt strange to project the song so loudly over the great distance to the parapet of Orthanc.

Nimoë felt the strength pouring out of her, and she struggled to maintain control of the energies flowing out with her song. Without warning, a great backlash flew at her. All of the strength she had sent forth slammed into her body, undirected, but with devastating strength. She flew through the air and landed with a sickening crunch against a pillar behind her. It felt as if every bone in her back had been snapped, and for long moments she could not breathe. When finally air managed to make its way back into her lungs, she gasped like a drowning man pulled back from the brink.

Tentatively, she tested her body, and found that it responded to her commands. Nothing had been broken, although she was deeply bruised. She crawled back to her perch upon the downed pillar. Saruman was still holding forth his speech, and it did not seem that he was aware of what had happened. His innate power was simply to great for her to reach his mind. Frustration seethed in her veins and she pounded her fist into the granite beneath her.

The sharp pain of her action brought her up short. That was no way to accomplish anything. Look around for something useful to do, she chided herself.

And then she saw him. Standing just inside a window slit, staring out at what was happening below, was Wormtongue. His drab features were taut, and he strained to hear what occurred.

Memory crashed into Nimoë's mind unbidden. "Bind her mouth! Bind her mouth!" Here was the man who had caused her so much torment and suffering. She shook with rage at the sight of him. Anger, which had festered so long within her, broke to the fore and, with as much strength as she could muster, Nimoë sent forth her song: a wall of energy, full of pulsing strength, and it took root inside the mind of Wormtongue.

#

Grima felt odd. He strained to lean further out of the window, but it was so tall that he could lever himself out no further. The voices, which had seemed clear but moments before, began to fade and a persistent buzzing began between his ears. He shook his head angrily, trying to clear it, but the motion only managed to augment the annoying sound.

He clapped his hands over his ears, trying to shut out the noise, but it had no effect. When he pulled his hands away, he was horrified to discover that he could no longer hear what was begin spoken at all. There was nothing. Only the ominous buzzing, which grew ever more shrill, and more relentless.

Unable to ignore the sound, he tried to listen to it more closely, to find where it originated. He leapt away from the window, and ran to a door, flinging it open. Wildly he looked about, and saw that there was nothing there that could have created the noise. He spun about, and began to pull books down off the shelves, looking behind them for an explanation. Even as he did so, the buzz began to pulse. A strange, compelling rhythm beat into his skull, and it seemed to be formed of words, but they were words like none he had ever heard before.

A strangled cry sprang from his lips as he began to cast various pieces of furniture about the room, looking in every drawer, under every table and chair, for the source of his torment. The pulsing was now wrought of excruciating pain, and it was as if hammers and chisels carved out pieces of his skull, in time with the forceful rhythm of the unrelenting words.

Madly, he stumbled through the room, throwing items off of desks and, alternately, pounding his head on the walls, trying to knock away the terrible cacophony. An ink well flew through the air, crashing against a wall, leaving a trail of blue-black liquid, like blood, splattered against the stone. He hurled a candlestick out the door, but still the pounding raged on. Mindlessly, he grabbed a large stone globe, with lights pulsating through it, and he heaved it with all of his strength out the window.

Unable to stand the torment any longer, he placed his head in the door frame. Then, with all the strength he could muster, he slammed the door shut. There was only a moment of pain before he slipped into peaceful oblivion.

#

As soon as Wormtongue lost consciousness, the tremendous energy surging through Nimoë's body again recoiled upon her. Once more she was hurled through the air, but this time she landed on the muddy earth. So much of her strength had been needed to control the words of power that, once it was no longer flowing through her, she could not even raise her head from the ground.

So she lay there, with her face squelched into the mud, hardly able to breathe. Awareness of what she had done began to creep into her. The realization that she had used her power for such a cruel and violent act swept over her like a tidal wave and she trembled uncontrollably. What she had done was a blasphemy against all that Galadriel had striven to instill in her! Strength like hers was not to be used in anger, and certainly never for revenge. She had irreversibly sullied her training and her very soul, which she had believed to be pure. She had become what Grima had labeled her, an Elf-Witch.

Guilt ravaged her and, with what little strength she had, she raised her head off of the ground. It appeared that none had noticed what had happened. The stone which Grima had thrown out of Orthanc had been picked up by Pippin, and the others were crowding around him.

Saruman had left the parapet, and the danger to her friends had passed. With a monumental effort, Nimoë dragged herself onto her hands and knees and, with tears flowing down her face, she began to crawl away. What she had done was unthinkable, and she dared not show her face among honest men. Her body dragged painfully through the muck as she crept away, and she thought it fitting. She wanted to bury herself in the filthy stuff, never to be seen again. How could she have let her instincts take control of her in such a manner? With a deep sense of regret and self-loathing, she acknowledged that her actions had proven her to be no better than an animal. And like an animal she slunk away.

#

**Author's Note: Okay, I had WAY too much fun writing that part with Grima. I am beginning to wonder about myself… Oh well, I hope that you enjoyed seeing Wormtongue get what was coming to him as well as I did. (And hey, no one ever explained for CERTAIN why he threw the palantir out the window…)**


	31. Rebirth

"Give that to me, fool of a Took!" spoke Gandalf, holding his hand out for the stone orb which Pippin carried. "I did not ask you to handle it."

When the stone had been launched out the window of Orthanc, it had crashed to the ground not two feet from the young Hobbits, who had been standing some distance apart from the others. Once they had recovered from the shock of the attack, Pippin walked over and picked it up. It was strangely heavy, as if it was denser than normal stone, and strange lights pulsed through it. Odd that it had not shattered on impact with the hard stone stairway where they stood, he thought.

As he carried it back to the others, he was taken by a strange compulsion to gaze closely into it, to search the lights that danced within for some secret meaning. His gaze grew unfocused and he swayed slightly on his feet. That was when Gandalf spoke, and Pippin tore his eyes from the stone.

There was a strange emptiness within him, but he ignored it and held the stone out to the wizard. "Here it is then, Gandalf. No need to get touchy about it."

"Let me be the judge of that," Gandalf growled. The wizard then beckoned to the others with a wave of his hand. "Come away from here. We will do better so speak of things far from this evil place."

A sense of troubled triumph was upon the company as they moved away from the tall tower. They had prevailed. Saruman had been sent back into his tower in disgrace, but there was now a greater foe to be faced. Saruman had only been a pawn of the Dark Lord Sauron, and the time had come to join the fight against him.

As they walked, Gandalf began to chuckle. After some time, Gimli, who walked beside him, finally blurted out, "Are you going to tell us what is so blasted amusing, or must we guess?"

In wonderment, the aged wizard shook his head. "I know not what possessed Wormtongue to throw this thing out the window, but I believe that he may have done us a great service. He could not have known the value of this stone, but I believe that had we gone into Orthanc ourselves, we could have found nothing that Saruman would miss more sorely." He held the stone out in front of him briefly so that all could see it, then hid it away under his cloak. "This is a palantir, one of the seeing stones of ancient times. Not all of them are accounted for, but this one must surely be the palantir of Elendil, set here by the Kings of Gondor. My guess would be that this is how Saruman communicated with Sauron." He shook his head again. "Old fool. Probably he thought that he could reason with the Dark Lord, and sought him out himself, but when Sauron set his eye upon him, Saruman was lost. In a way I pity him."

The wizard was interrupted by a shriek of anger from the tower and again he chuckled, "It would seem that Saruman has discovered his loss. I think that Master Wormtongue will have some explaining to do."

The company finally arrived at the spot along the wall of Isengard from which they had set forth. Legolas glanced around him, eager to tell Nimoë that the encounter had come out in their favor. Not seeing her where they had left her, he spun about, swinging his keen eyes along the horizon, hoping to catch a glimpse of her.

A deep sense of foreboding crashed down upon him as he thought back to her words before he had left her, "I will not come with you to Orthanc… Saruman will not see me…" With one final glace, to be certain that she was nowhere to be found, he left his companions, and scrambled up to the top of the nearest tall structure, a gatehouse that was half standing.

From this higher vantage point, it was clear that she was gone. What had she done? His hands began to tremble and his mind spun, thinking frantically. If she had followed them to the tower, she would have known that the confrontation was over. She would have returned, and arrived ahead of them, for she would not wish him to know of her subterfuge. Something had happened to her. Something evil.

He leapt down off of his perch, and called out, "Nimoë! Answer me! Where are you?"

Eomer spun around and called to him, "She is not back from the tower? Can you not see her approaching?"

Legolas shook his head and laid his hand onto the hilt of his Elven blade. "She is nowhere nearby." Suddenly he realized what the horse-lord had said. "You knew? You knew that she would follow us to Orthanc?"

Eomer nodded he as strode to the Elf's side. "It was as clear as daylight. I do not understand why you did not see it."

"Nor do I, now that I look back on it." His hand was shaking with rage. "If anything has happened to her…"

The Elf Prince did not finish the thought, but Eomer understood the stain of self-disgust which he heard in Legolas' voice. He clapped his hand to his friend's shoulder and said, "Let us not waste time. We will split up and we will find her. Do not worry. I am sure that she is well." Even as he spoke the words, Eomer knew them to be a lie. If she was well, she would have been waiting for them at the wall.

Aragorn and Gimli had been standing nearby and they both volunteered to aid in the search. Within moments, the four friends had moved off in different directions, shouting Nimoë's name, searching the ground for any sign of Elf-prints. The others remained behind, waiting in case she should return.

Legolas strained his ears as he walked, hoping for any sound that might alert him to Nimoë's presence, and his eagle eyes scanned the ground ahead of him minutely. As the minutes passed and he found nothing, his heart began to pound as loudly as thunder in his chest. Every so often calls of, "Nimoë, where are you?" reached his ears, so he knew that none of the other searchers had found her either.

He had almost reached the moat surrounding the tower when something strange caught his eye. Footprints approached his location from a different direction, and they led to a downed pillar. There were muddy tracks upon it and it looked as if they had gone up twice, but never down. Some distance from the pillar was a body sized imprint in the muck with a trail leading away from it that looked almost as if it had been left by a snake of unnatural size.

Legolas knelt down next to the strange trail and ran his fingers over it. The sensitive pads of his fingertips found subtle indentations, which even his Elf eyes had not seen. Someone had crawled away on their hands and knees. Someone light and slender. Nimoë.

He shouted her name again and again as he chased along the trail. It was easy to follow through the fresh mud, and he moved quickly on his fleet feet. The path veered off to the side, and onto a solid stone patio in front of a demolished building. Mud trailed along the stone, and he raced inside.

Nimoë was there, lying on the bottom steps of a staircase which led to nowhere, and she was sobbing with great, wracking heaves of grief. She was oblivious to his presence and he stood for a moment stunned. It was the matter of a moment before he found his feet and went to her side. "Nimoë, what happened?"

Startled, she jerked her head up and saw him. On trembling arms she moved to lever herself away from him. "Get back! Get away from me!"

Shock flooded through him, and he reached out to touch her arm.

Her whole body flinched at his touch, and she bit back a sob. "Please, Legolas, let me be! Forget that you ever knew me!"

"What?! What has happened to you, Nimoë?"

He reached to gather her into his arms but, with a strength that she did not know that she possessed, she pushed herself away, falling ungracefully down the few stairs which she had lain across.

"Get away from me before I hurt you too. Before I do it again…" Then her face crumpled and she buried it in her hands.

Ignoring her protests he caught her face between his hands and forced her to look at him. "Nimoë, what are you talking about? What could you possibly do to me?"

In great, hiccupping sobs, she answered him, "I did it… I sent him mad… I could feel it… I lived every moment with him… It was like the world was ending…" Then she stared straight at him, daring him to make an offer of comfort. "Legolas, I almost killed him!"

"Saruman?" he asked, although such a question seemed ridiculous. He had been cowed, but certainly not mad.

"Nay." Her voice shook as she spoke and her eyes were haunted. "Wormtongue. I saw him there, peering out of the tower, and before I could think, before I even knew I had begun, I was singing. I used the ancient words of power. I sent him mad, and through it all I was there with him, inside of his mind, watching the torture he underwent. And still I did not stop! I struck out at him with a strength that is never to be used in anger..." Her hands reached out and clutched the front of his tunic, trying to draw strength from him, even as she strove to prove why she did not deserve it. "He slammed his own head in a door to end the torment. He might have died! I almost became a murderer this day!"

Dark fury began to simmer inside the Elf Prince against the vile man, who, even in his defeat, still managed to bring pain to his love. He brought her head back up to face him. "Nimoë, listen to me. You did nothing wrong. All that you did was give him back his own foul medicine. For did he not torture you as well? Did you not almost pass from this world? I tell you truly that your actions were justified. Had I been the one to see him, he would surely no longer be breathing, so it may be for the best that you were the one to repay him for his crime."

"You do not understand, Legolas. What I did profanes the Elven magic. I should not have allowed my emotions to take control of me."

A shadow fell over them and Legolas looked up and saw Eomer standing in the doorway. He wondered how long the horse-lord had been listening. Eomer leaned up against the doorframe and spoke, "I am not an Elf, so I cannot speak definitively, but I see nothing wrong in your actions. Wormtongue is an enemy, not only of yours, but of all the free people of Middle Earth. As an enemy, it is our duty to hunt him down. Legolas and I fight with weapons. You cannot do that. Your weapon is your song. You wielded it skillfully, and I only wish that you had managed to finish the job."

Seeing Nimoë flinch at Eomer's last sentence, Legolas hushed him briskly. "Eomer speaks the truth, although I am glad that you did not kill the viper. It will give me the pleasure when next we meet." He offered her his hand, "Please, won't you come back with us?"

"Even now, after you know what I have done?"

He smiled down at her tenderly. "Especially now. I was afraid that in the heat of battle you would not be able to protect yourself. I see now that you are far from powerless, if you will allow yourself to use the weapons at your command." He clasped her hand tightly in his and gave her the best advice that he could. "This is a time of war. What you were taught was realistic in a time of peace, but we must all be ready to make changes. I think that if Galadriel were here, she would understand, and even encourage you to harness your magic to the side of right. What say you? Will you join your strength to ours? Will you wield it in battle?"

As she looked up into his encouraging gaze, her eyes began to clear, as if a new day was dawning within her. "Is this what you truly believe?"

"It is."

She smiled then, and laid her free hand on top of their joined ones. "If this is your counsel, my heart, then I will do what you ask. I will join my strength to yours. I must warn you, however, that while I am powerful, I do not have a broad range of skills available to me. I am still a novice. But what I can do, I will." She turned her face to include Eomer. "I will go with you, and I will not falter if I must use my power." She raised her hand, though, cautioning them, "I will only do it in utmost necessity. It goes against all that I have learned to hold dear. But if all else has failed, I will sing. I will do what I must."

Legolas and Eomer locked eyes over her head and they smiled with relief. This frail bird, so innocent and pure, had grown. She was ready to fly on her own. They need no longer fear for her overmuch. Her weapon was at the ready and, though she was loath to wield it, they knew that she could. A great weight lifted off of their shoulders, and together they took her hands to pull her to her feet.

With Legolas upon her left and Eomer upon her right, each with an arm about her waist to support her, for the magic-weariness was still upon her, Nimoë stepped out of the dark, broken building into the bright light of day. It felt to her like a rebirth. She had met the darkest part of her soul and, with the help of her love and dear friend, she had come back from the brink. It was not a part of herself that she was proud of, but she found that she could accept it.

A lone bird flew low over the ruins of Isengard, and she watched its carefree flight. Never again would she match its innocent joy, but neither would she hide her face from it. That would be enough.


	32. Pippin and the Palantir

They made their way slowly back to where Gandalf, Theoden, Merry and Pippin awaited them. Gandalf's hand moved slowly back and forth over the smooth surface of the palantir, which was covered by his white robe. He looked up at their approach and smiled. "I see that you have been found, Nimoë. From the looks of you, there was more happening at Orthanc than was obvious to me. Do you know anything about a stone thrown out of a window?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Nimoë saw Aragorn and Gimli returning, and, keeping her voice low, for guilt still ate at her, she nodded. "I am afraid that was my doing, Gandalf, at least indirectly. I used my magic against Wormtongue. I poisoned his mind into insanity, and he destroyed the room he was in, trying to find the source of his torment. He threw the stone, thinking that perhaps if it was gone, his suffering would end. I am ashamed to say that it did not end until he slammed his own head in a door."

Laughter sprung forth from the old wizard. "Aha! A mystery made clear! I cannot say that I am sorry for what you have done. This palantir is a great boon to us, for now the Dark Lord can no longer communicate with Saruman. His thought will be bent here to Orthanc, and he will be thinking that Saruman has turned against him. You may have bought us some much needed time." He sprang up then and beckoned to them all. "Come now! We must ride quickly from this place. The servants of the Dark Lord will be on their way, and we must not linger to be found. Away!"

They all followed Gandalf back towards the gates of Isengard, where the horses had been left. Nimoë leaned heavily upon Legolas and Eomer, and she shook her head despairingly. "I am afraid, Legolas, that I will have to abandon poor Finduél again. May I ride with you until I am recovered?"

He squeezed her gently. "If the choice were mine, you would ride with me always. I will be happy to have you near me."

They mounted up then, Gimli behind Eomer, Pippin with Aragorn and Merry in front of Gandalf. As soon as all were mounted, they thundered away from the ruins of Isengard, happy to leave the place, and the memories it held, behind.

Gimli shouted to Gandalf, "What will become of Saruman? How will he be kept holed up in his fell tower?"

Gandalf called back to him, "The Ents will see to Saruman. They have long memories of his atrocities. Do not fear for his escape. Trust the Ents."

#

Throughout the long day they rode hard. Nimoë rested against Legolas' chest, and concentrated on regaining her strength. Never before had she wielded the amount of power she had used at Orthanc, so she had no idea how long the terrible, crushing weariness would be upon her. She bristled with impatience. It had been such a short time since she had finally regained her strength, and now had she lost it again. If it came down to it, she was not sure that she could muster any magic at all right then and there. Fine thing to decide you could use a weapon, only to discover that you did not have the strength to wield it.

The hours stretched onward towards darkness and, finally, Nimoë found the strength to lift her head off of Legolas' shoulder. Shadows were stretched long across the earth as twilight descended upon them. "Will we ride all night?" she asked.

Legolas shook his head. "I do not know. Are you feeling more like yourself?"

She stretched as well as she was able, testing her muscles, and smiled. "I am. If ever we do stop, I will be able to ride on my own."

He nuzzled his face into her hair and sighed, "I will miss you."

A light laugh burbled out of her like a clear spring. "You may miss me, but I wager that Arod will not. Poor horse, he has been hard put to these last days."

Legolas did not reply, but smiled in rueful agreement.

#

Finally, Gandalf drew Shadowfax to a halt. "We will rest here tonight. Your horses are weary." He did not need to say that Shadowfax was still as strong as if he were fresh, for all knew it and marveled. He handed Merry down, and the others dismounted quickly, and tended to the horses.

Nimoë found a comfortable mossy bed and burrowed into it, content to close her eyes and drift into peaceful slumber. Legolas followed her soon after, and together they lay, warmed each by the other, and for a while forgot about the troubles still facing them.

Nimoë was deep in a dream of fragrant glens, radiant with a golden aura, where she walked hand in hand with her Elf Prince. Birds sang about them, but even their pure song was as nothing when compared with the beauty and tranquility she felt at being in Legolas' strong and welcoming presence.

Her dream self lay back upon the fragrant grass and she pulled him down with her. Kisses as sweet as nectar at dawn grew passionate, more insistent, and she welcomed the look of smoldering fire she saw burning in her Prince's eyes. Willingly she gave herself over to him, reveling in the power of his caress, and she drew him closer still.

#

With a start, Nimoë was jerked back to consciousness. A terrible scream pierced the night sky. It was a scream of utmost terror, and she sat up abruptly, Legolas a moment behind her. They looked at each other with baffled expressions. "What was tha…" she began, but was cut off by another traumatized wail.

Legolas leapt to his feet and ran towards the source of the scream, grabbing up his bow and arrows as he ran. With only a moment's hesitation, Nimoë followed behind him, and saw that most of the camp had been roused and were also searching for an explanation.

What they found was the very last thing they might have expected. Pippin lay sprawled on the ground, his hand resting upon the palantir, his eyes pasted open, but unseeing, and his mouth moving soundlessly.

Nimoë went to his side and laid her hands upon his brow. "Pippin, can you hear me?" Concentrating her strength, she began to sing, allowing the threads of song to delve into his mind, to try to find a way to bring him back to them, for he was surely in another place. The dread that greeted her was intense, and she almost shied away, but Pippin needed her. She would not relent.

She closed her eyes so that she would not be distracted by the physical world, but she felt Legolas lay a supporting hand upon her back, offering his strength to augment her own. She breathed deeply and then began to sing her way past the barrier which she could sense had been erected around Pippin's mind. It did not feel malignant, so he must have put it there himself, trying to protect himself from some terrible evil, at which Nimoë could not guess.

Slowly, stone by stone, she bored her way through the barrier, pleading with him to return to them. After what seemed to her like an eternity, she felt a flicker of life from within him. The flicker then took flame, and his mind burned brightly in her vision. He was back.

Nimoë withdrew immediately, unwilling to see more than he might wish her too. Opening her eyes, she took her hands off of his brow. Looking up, she saw the tall figures of men towering over her, concern for the Hobbit plain in their features, even in the dim starlight. Gandalf, whose white robes seemed to mirror the glitter of the stars, knelt down next to her, seeing that her work was done.

"So here's the thief!" he spoke. "What possessed you, Peregrin Took? Tell me, what did you see within the stone?"

Legolas offered Nimoë his hand to assist her to stand, and she took it, then sidled up next to him, pleased that she had been able to bring Pippin back, but afraid of what was about to transpire. They watched as Pippin's face transformed, from guilty to fearful, and back again.

His voice trembled as he replied to the wizard, "I am sorry, Gandalf. I didn't mean to do it! It was as if some strange compulsion was upon me. All I wanted was a tiny peek, just to see those colors dancing again. When I looked into the stone this time, though, it seemed as if it was a great, flaming red eye, lidless, boring straight into my soul." He paused and took a shaky breath. "Oh, Gandalf, it was awful. I tried to look away. I tried not to see, but then he was there! The Dark Lord! I trembled before him, as he questioned me. "What are you?" he wanted to know. I tried not to answer, truly I did, but I found that I could not resist him. So I said, "A Hobbit," I said. A Hobbit! And then he laughed. "I will take it from you, Hobbit," he said. "You will suffer endless torture in Minas Morgul, and I will wrest it from your screaming body. You seek to destroy me?! Such a small little thing you are. I will crush you with my breath and you will blow like the dust before my passing."

"Gandalf, it was awful! I know not how I managed to escape, but believe me when I tell you that I want nothing to do with that stone ever again! I have brought us to ruin!"

Terrible fear spread through Nimoë and she burrowed closer still into Legolas' protective embrace, feeling the presence of the Dark Lord close about them, seeking reassurance that all would be well. They watched as Gandalf shook his head in resignation. "It is a foul thing that you have done, Peregrin Took, yet there is no punishment that I could set you that would be worse than what you have undergone. But take heart! In doing this one thing, ill-advised as it may have been, you may have given Frodo a greater hope of completing his task. From what you have said, Sauron has made the mistake of thinking that you are the Hobbit that bears the ring. He knows that you used the palantir from Orthanc, and so he must believe that you are in Saruman's keeping. That, in fact, Saruman plans to steal the ring for his own purposes. He will not be as watchful of his own borders as he should, for he believes the ring to be found." Gandalf nodded to himself. "Yes, Pippin, I think that this may have worked out for the best, although for your sake I wish it had not."

The wizard turned then to Aragorn, who stood nearby. "Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur and Elendil, will you take the palantir into your keeping? It is yours by right, and has proven too dangerous to be left to the keeping of others."

The heir of Gondor nodded. "It is indeed a dangerous thing, but powerful as well. I will take it, as is my right, and I will keep it safe."

Relieved, Gandalf stood and pulled Pippin to his feet. "I am afraid that now we must ride quickly away from this place. We will go as fast as Shadowfax can bear us to Gondor. The rest of you follow as best you can. I will await you there!"

Almost as soon as he had spoken, he brought Pippin to Shadowfax and set the shaken Hobbit upon his noble back. The wizard leapt up after him and with a great pounding of hooves they were gone.


	33. Great Evil and Great Good

For long moments those left behind stood staring into the darkness, listening to Shadowfax's receding footfalls. Aragorn finally broke the silence. "Well, then, let us not ignore Gandalf's words. I doubt that there will be rest for any of us this night, so let us ride now on our way to Edoras, and the muster of Rohan."

Theoden echoed his words, "You are right. To the horses."

In silence, the company gathered their few belongings and mounted up onto their horses. Legolas again boosted Nimoë up onto Finduél's back, then leapt onto Arod. He reached his hand out to take hers, and squeezed it, a gentle reminder that he was still with her, although they rode separately.

Eomer led them away from their campsite, riding hard through the gloom of night. The countryside was like a dream, dark and formless, as they passed by. Sensations of foreboding assailed them as they rode, as if some great evil were approaching.

Then, without warning, an inhuman screech pierced the night's velvet darkness, and it brought with it a wave of chill dread. All eyes swung up towards the sky, where a vast winged shape swooped, backlit against the stars, terrible in its presence.

The horses reared and screamed, their eyes rolling wildly in their terror. Finduél went up onto his hind legs, front feet pounding the air, as if trying to battle an invisible foe. Nimoë clung to his mane, and gripped tightly with her legs, and managed barely to remain on his back, as he charged away, senseless of direction, as long as it way far from the swooping form above.

The Rohirrim struggled to regain control of their mounts, but the continued wailing of the Nazgul, for what else could it be that brought such unreasoning fear to those nearby, rendered their efforts useless. Heavy hooves flailed through the air coming dangerously close to other horses and riders, and all feared the worst.

Desperately, Nimoë clung to Finduél's back, bending all of her will to keeping her seat. Some part of her mind was grateful that they were on an open plain, rather than in the forest, for surely if they were, she would have been knocked free by branches whipping past her. Pulling back against his mane, she tried futilely to bring the runaway horse to a stop.

Finally, the Nazgul continued onward in its flight, straight as an arrow towards Isengard. With its passing, Finduél finally slowed to a trot, and then pulled up to a halt. Nimoë drew in shaking breaths, relieved that the headlong run was over. She looked about her and found that in the darkness, she could not see where she had come from. The rest of the Rohirrim were out of her sight, and in her panic, she had not paid close attention to the direction of her flight.

Closing her eyes, a hum began to swell in her throat. There were no words, so it remained undirected, and she reached out with the power, trying to locate humans nearby. A faint resonant echo began off to her west, and she turned Finduél in that direction. Keeping the exhausted horse to a sedate walk, she led him off, confident that soon she would find the others.

After a few minutes, the sound of another horse approached her and she hailed them, "Who is there?"

The voice which reached her out of the darkness was familiar, "It is Eomer. Nimoë? Are you well?"

Eomer finally came into view, lit only by the twinkling stars. "Well enough. What of the others? Did other horses run?"

The horse-lord shook his head. "Only Finduél. I am afraid that you are not the best rider among us. The rest of us only barely managed to master our beasts. Come back quickly. The others are worried about you."

They rode together in silence the short distance back to the camp. Legolas was just returning from searching in another direction. "Nimoë!" he called in relief. "Glad am I to see you riding. I was afraid that Finduél would throw you."

She smiled at him reassuringly. "As you see, I am well. I am ready to continue on."

The Rohirrim took that as a signal, and they wheeled about as one, pounding down the trail, hoping to get as far from Isengard as possible before the Ringwraith arrived and discovered what had transpired. The memory of its foul presence sent them forward at a brisk pace, and they did not slow through the rest of the night.

As the light of day was beginning to dawn, one of the riders, who had kept to the back, ran his horse forward to the king. "There are horses behind us, King Theoden, and they are riding harder than we. They are overtaking us."

At this the king raised his fist, and the company reined to a halt. They drew their weapons, turning to face whatever might be coming. The only thing of which Nimoë was certain was that it was not orcs which rode so purposefully towards them. There was no taint of their presence in her mind. Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword, but she did not draw it, and with the other hand she grasped tightly to Finduél's mane.

Over the last rise appeared a company of almost two score riders, which bore down on them with great speed. The riders wore dark grey cloaks and their faces were hard, lined with concern and with long years of toil. They did not bear their weapons drawn, so Eomer called out, "Who goes there! What is your business in Rohan?"

One of the men came forward from the others and replied, "Rohan? That is a welcome word indeed, for we have been riding long and hard. We seek Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and we were told we would find him in Rohan."

Aragorn broke from the Rohirrim then and spoke, with a welcoming smile on his face, "And you have found him. Halbarad, my good friend, it has been much too long. But how do you come to be here? I did not send for you."

A mystified look crossed Halbarad's features. "We received a message, telling us that Aragorn had need of his kindred, and to ride to him with all speed."

"Only did I wish for you in my heart. Of all unlooked for pleasures, this is the greatest I can imagine."

Halbarad beckoned to two of those who rode with him. They were tall, with dark hair and grey eyes, and they were clearly of Elven descent. "Elladan and Elrohir bear you a gift, which will add to your pleasure greatly, I deem."

Nimoë looked at the two Elves more closely then. So these were the sons of Elrond of Rivendell. So alike did they appear that she did not know that she would be able to tell them apart.

The brothers rode to the fore and Elrohir handed a long staff, wrapped round with a black cloth, to Aragorn. "My sister, Arwen, sends this to you along with this message, "The days are short. Either our hope will come or it will end. Therefore I send you that which I have made for you. Farewell, Elfstone." Those were her words, just as she spoke them, Aragorn."

Aragorn's hand strayed to the jet black fabric, and his fingers caressed it without his volition. "Thank you Elrohir. Do you bring me any other word?"

Elladan spoke then, "Our father also sends word. "The days grow short. In his haste, let the heir of Gondor not forget the Paths of the Dead." That is all."

Aragorn shook himself out of his reverie. "Let us not discuss this further upon the road. We ride now to Helm's Deep, where we will find shelter and solitude. Will you ride with us?"

Halbarad nodded. "We will. We will look forward to food and what little rest we can find. Lead us onward."


	34. Dunharrow

The sun had risen to its zenith in the sky by the time they rode into Helm's Deep. The scene was much different from when they had ridden out. Burial mounds were built up in even rows, and the bodies of the orcs had vanished. Nimoë relaxed her shoulders, which she had not until that moment realized were tense, in relief. She had been dreading the sight of the death fields about the Dike.

The company passed quickly beyond Helm's Gate, and left the horses outside while they entered the Hornburg. How very different the place seemed now. The murmurs of quiet conversations and the stomping and nickering of the horses outside were the only sounds to be heard. To Nimoë it seemed almost wrong to be there and not hear screams of death. Wrong, but reassuring.

Aragorn had gone immediately to one of the highest rooms in the citadel, along with the sons of Elrond and his kinsmen from the north. There was little to do but eat, rest and wait, so Nimoë wandered away from the others and made her way to the room where she had worked so feverishly to save the lives of the injured Rohirrim.

It was empty and bare, but dried blood still clung to the floor stones and along the walls, where those who could sit had been propped. Slowly, Nimoë stepped through the doorway. With hesitant steps she approached the spot where the man who had so reminded her of Boromir had passed from the world. A large stain of congealed blood marked the place, and she knelt next to it, running her fingers thoughtfully over the encrustation.

So much she had tried to accomplish in this place. Memories of the men she had aided flooded over her, and she wondered what had become of them. Had they survived? Was what she had done for them enough? Would she ever know?

She rocked back on her heels and laid her face in her hands, trying to put to rest in her mind the ghosts of those she had failed. There was no question in her mind but that she had done her best, yet still she grieved for those who had lost their lives.

A hand was laid upon her shoulder, and she knew that it was Legolas before he spoke. "I thought that I would find you here. Nimoë, I have a message for you, but I am afraid I am very late in delivering it, for a time never presented itself. The men who watched after those you had healed bade me to tell you that many men owed you their lives. That they if not for your skill, countless more would have died. They bade me give you their thanks."

She lifted her head and smiled at him. "That eases my heart. I thank you for the message. Yet I cannot help but wonder what became of them."

Legolas assisted her to rise, then spoke, "You may find out soon enough. My guess is that we will ride from here to Dunharrow, where the Lady Eowyn awaits word from the king. The injured will have been brought there. You can ask after them."

"I will. I hope that we will not be long in arriving."

Legolas raised his eyebrows and grinned. "To that end I bring you another message. Food is prepared. We will eat, then we will soon be on our way. Come back with me?"

Nimoë laid her hand in his, and they left the room alone with its memories. The smell of hearty food was already wafting its way up the spiraling staircase and they moved quickly, anxious to eat and be off.

#

The meal had been completed and the Rohirrim were growing impatient to be off by the time Aragorn came down from the high tower. Nimoë looked at his face in shock. It seemed as though he had aged many years in the short hours he had been closeted away. His usually stern visage was grey with fatigue and his shoulders were bent.

"Theoden-king," he spoke, "I have looked into the Stone of Elendil. I have seen the Dark Lord, and he has seen my face. My strength was barely enough, but I managed to wrest the Stone to my will, and Sauron now knows that the heir of Gondor walks the world."

Legolas, Nimoë, Gimli and Eomer exchanged worried glances. Such a thing was of dire import, and they did not know how to react. Aragorn continued, "He knows of my presence and I showed him Anduril, Narsil of old re-forged. He fears the sword, for it is the very one which cut the one ring from his hand in the first age. He also fears the blood of Elendil and Isildur. I fear that he will intensify his siege of Gondor, hoping to crush it before I can come there. Time is now of the essence, and I must ride with as much speed as can be mustered. I must travel the Paths of the Dead."

Voices round about cried out, "The Paths of the Dead are cursed. You cannot pass through them and live!"

Aragorn raised his hand for silence, and the voices ceased without protest, for the mantle of power was upon him, and they could not disobey. "It is true that for all other men, to travel the Paths of the Dead is to willingly commit suicide. But for me, there is a chance. There is a prophecy, which tells of the heir of Isildur and the Oathbreakers. For those are the dead who dwell within the Paths. They failed to fulfill their oath to my ancestor, and so they are doomed to wander until I call them forth to do what they had sworn to do. To aid in the fight against the Dark Lord. Therefore I may pass unmolested, as will those who travel with me."

Theoden looked as if he wanted to object, but instead he nodded his understanding. "The Paths of the Dead begin outside of Dunharrow. You must ride there faster than my party will be able to travel. Take word to my sister-daughter that I am well and ride towards Dunharrow to bring her tidings and to make for the muster at Edoras."

"I will. My kinsmen from the north will ride with me, as will the sons of Elrond."

Gimli stepped forward. "Paths of the Dead or no Paths of the Dead, I will follow you. You cannot get rid of me that easily."

"Nor I," spoke Legolas.

Nimoë shook off the alarm which passed over her at the thought of the dreaded path they would follow, and with voice soft but firm, she spoke, "Nor I."

#

As soon as the decision was made, the Dunedain and the others who would follow Aragorn went to their horses. Eomer watched with sorrow and no little trepidation as Nimoë was boosted to her seat upon Finduél. The path she would travel was a dangerous one, and he feared for her, but he knew that his duty was to the people of Rohan. She waved back at him as they galloped way, and he responded with a bright smile and a nod of his head.

When the Grey Company had left, Eomer and Theoden began to gather the remaining Rohirrim, for their slower, but not gentle, ride to Dunharrow. A deep silence was over them, as if a pall were draped about their shoulders, and they thought long of what would await their friends on the dread Paths they would travel.

#

Never had Nimoë ridden so hard. Finduél was lathered in sweat, making his back slippery, and his breathing was labored, but still they pounded onwards, knowing that time was one thing they had not nearly enough of. After long hours, the trail they followed began to rise up into the hills, and they knew that Dunharrow was drawing near.

Coming around a last bend, they arrived at the city. It was not large, and the buildings were constructed low to the ground, giving the place a flattened look, as if some giant had taken a step and squashed it all down. The clamor of the horse's hooves brought many out of their homes, and a woman clad in white separated herself from the others, stepping forward with her hand on the hilt of the sword that was belted to her waist.

Wonderment showed clear in her eyes as she recognized Aragorn, and she released her grip on her sword. "Hail, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and welcome to Dunharrow. It is good of you to come so far out of your way to bring news to Eowyn in her confinement."

Aragorn dismounted and went before her, clasping her hand in greeting. "Surely no man who made such a trip could count it wasted, Lady, but I am not out of my way. I will ride the Paths of the Dead. All I ask of you is refreshment, and a place to sit and rest before we depart,"

A flash of horror flicked across that fair face. "Surely you jest? It is death to pass there."

Aragorn sighed. "I will not speak of it here. Will you not offer us food and drink?"

Suddenly aware of her duties, Eowyn beckoned to the party to follow her. Then her eyes lit upon Nimoë and they brightened. "Lady Nimoë! Right glad am I to see you. We have here many who were brought from the battle of Helm's Deep. Some of them are grievously injured, and ill in spirit. They spoke of you and your healing. I beg you, will you lend your aid again here?"

Nimoë nodded. "If someone will lead me, I will go to them directly."

Eowyn motioned to a serving woman to lead Nimoë to the infirmary. "I will have refreshment sent to you. Thank you for lending your aid."

"It is my duty."


	35. Choices

Nimoë was led to a building on the outskirts of Dunharrow. It was unspectacular in any way, and the dull brown of the walls was singularly unwelcoming. The serving woman pushed the door open and Nimoë stepped inside.

Rows of cots were lined against the walls, and every one of them was filled, with other men lying in the middle of the floor on piles of clean blankets. The smell of death was heavy within the room, and Nimoë looked about her, shocked to see that all of the windows were bolted shut. A weary looking young woman, with a soiled apron wrapped about her waist, scurried to greet her. "Can I help you?"

"Are you the healer in this place?" asked Nimoë.

The woman nodded her sandy blonde head. "If you can call me that. I do what I can, but I fear that it is not enough. I know how to do little more than bathe the wounds and change the dressings. And even that is more than anyone else here in Dunharrow."

Nimoë strode farther into the room. "Why are the windows closed?"

The nurse hurried after her. "That is what my mother's mother taught me. If the windows are left open, then the spirits of the living may steal away."

Nimoë shook her head in resignation. There was much to be done here. She faced the nurse directly and stated her name. "I am Nimoë. The Lady Eowyn has sent me here to offer my healing skills. The first thing that must be done is to open those windows. Clean air and daylight will help cure the ills of many of here, I do not doubt. Fear not, their spirits are well attached to their bodies, and I can do much to aid in the healing of those."

The sandy haired lady scurried to do her bidding, for it was clear that here was someone with much greater skills than her own, and truly she wanted do all that she could to save the lives of her kinsmen. Once the shutters had been thrown back and air began to circulate, she hastened to Nimoë's side, where the Elf knelt next to a young man who was suffering from a vicious infection at the site of a stab wound in his side.

When the Elf lifted her hands from his face, the nurse spoke. "My Lady Elf, my name is Halanna. I will do all that I can to aid you. Only tell me what I must do."

Nimoë motioned with her hand, indicating all of those within the room. "Which ones of these are in sorest need? I will tend to them first."

Halanna quickly beckoned to the Elf to follow her, and began to lead her to those men for whose lives she had most feared. Her deep brown eyes widened with wonder as she watched the Elf lady work. This was like no medicine she had ever seen before. Over each man the mysterious lady knelt, taking their hands, or touching their faces. Then she sang and, while her voice was deep and sonorous, it could not be called beautiful. Not beautiful, but clearly powerful. Before her eyes she watched the strengthening of the man who was sung over. Color began to return to faces which had been ashen and drawn for many days. Breath which had been long labored came more easily.

After three men had been tended to, Halanna led Nimoë to a bed in a back corner. The man who lay there suffered from a wound in his leg that had festered and refused to heal, leaving him in the grip of a raging fever. More than that, he was not in his right mind. When he had been brought to the infirmary, he had been shouting, raving about orcs chasing him down. Halanna had been forced to bind his arms to the cot, to prevent him from doing himself injury. She related this tale to Nimoë with a catch in her throat.

Nimoë glanced up at the woman and asked with compassion, "Who is this man to you?"

Halanna dropped her eyes, large and round like a deer's, to the floor and whispered softly, "He is my brother."

She was aware of the Elf's gentle hand laid over her own, and her melodious voice reassuring her, "I will do all that I can. If he can be brought back to you, I will do it. What is his name?"

"Henodred, my Lady Nimoë."

Upon hearing his name, Henodred began to thrash against his restraints. "They are coming! Run! I will keep you safe, Halanna, just run!"

Halanna bit her lip in consternation, unsure whether to go to him, or if her presence would only agitate him further. Nimoë motioned to her to step back and leave her some room. Gratefully, she did as she was bidden.

Nimoë took Henodred's hand, which he could not pull away, as it was strapped in place, and began to sing. Halanna watched without taking breath, hoping against hope that this Elf would be able to do what she could not. To bring her brother back to her.

Slowly, his thrashing ceased and his wide eyes dropped shut. For the first time in days, Henodred slept, the true sleep of healing. Halanna let her breath out in a sob of relief and fell to her knees at Nimoë's feet. "Thank you, Lady. I had feared that I had lost him forever. He is all the family that I have left. Will he recover now?"

Nimoë lifted her gently to her feet. "Please, do not call me Lady. My name is Nimoë, and if we are to work together, it will be less cumbersome. Henodred is very ill. I cannot heal him completely all at once. The same is true of many men here. It will take at least a few days."

Another voice broke in upon the two women. It was Eowyn, who stood in the doorway, a tray of food in her hands. "You will stay, then, will you not? These men have great need of you."

Nimoë bowed her head. The rest of the Grey Company would be leaving within the hour. Legolas would be with them and her heart longed to remain at his side. She turned her head and looked down at Halanna, who had knelt down at her brother's side, and was gently stroking his sweat soaked hair off of his brow. Then her eyes scanned the rest of the room, full of men suffering, with no other person to aid them.

Returning her gaze to Eowyn, she nodded. "I will stay."

The White Lady of Rohan handed her the tray of food and spoke, "We will be ever in your debt. I will go and bring word to your companions that you will not travel on with them."

"Thank you."

Once Eowyn was gone, Nimoë ate the tray of food quickly, restoring her strength before going back to the sick and injured. Halanna had left her brother to rest in peace and was walking among the beds, checking dressings and tending the wounds with herbal poultices. For one who had no training, Nimoë had to admit that she had done the best that she could. Even if her lack of skill was marked, at least the wounds had been kept clean, and the girl's gentle smile was clearly a balm to those who were suffering.

She went to join the sandy haired girl, and smiled down at her. "Come, let me show you some of the Elven healing which you can perform. It is not all made of the magic of song."

Halanna proved to be a quick study and together they made the rounds of the men, Nimoë allowing the girl to perform the work which she could, before she used her song upon them. Some of the men were well enough that they could be left solely to Halanna's care, giving Nimoë fewer direct responsibilities, so that she could better focus her energies.

"Nimoë," came a familiar voice from the doorway. "I would speak with you."

She turned and saw Legolas framed in the door. Motioning Halanna to continue her work, Nimoë went out the door, and Legolas followed her. Once they had moved away from the outskirts of the city, Legolas reached out his hand to her shoulder, stopping her motion. She spun around and looked up into his deep blue eyes. Oh, how she would miss the sight of them.

"You are remaining behind?" he asked, sadly.

"I must. So many here are suffering. Many will die if I do not remain. If I were to go on with you, I would be a burden. I will not use my powers unless at greatest need, and even then I will be reluctant. I will do better work here. Once these men are healed, they will be that many more to ride against the forces of Sauron. Theoden and Eomer will come by in a day or two, and if I can work quickly, many men will be able to join the muster, who otherwise would not. Who is to say that such a number might not make the difference?" Her words spilled out of her, trying desperately to explain this sudden desertion.

Legolas laid his finger over her lips. "Hush, Nimoë. I understand, truly I do. If you felt differently I would think less of you. All the Valar know that I will miss you like I was missing my arm or my leg, but this is where you are needed. In times of trouble, we must all go where we are needed. So I will follow the Paths of the Dead, and you will offer new life to those who would elsewhise pass to the other side."

Nimoë threw her arms around him and clung to him with a deep sense of loss. "I fear for you on the Paths of the Dead."

Legolas smiled at her reassuringly. "The shades of men hold no fear for me. I will be well. See to it that you take care of yourself. I will await the time when we are together again. If we win this war, I will find you. Wherever you may be, I will find you. Only see that you stay alive. Promise me."

She nodded. "I will do what I must. And you must promise me as well."

"I will come back to you. Though all the hosts of Mordor bar my way, I will return to you." Knowing that the time for departure was nigh, he reluctantly drew away from her. "Take care, my dearest. I know not when I will see you again, but I will carry you always in my heart."

He turned away then, not willing to suffer a drawn out farewell. She watched him go and a solitary tear rolled down her cheek, it salty sting burning into a cut above her lip, which had not yet healed. "My thoughts are with you always," she whispered after his retreating form.

Then she turned purposefully and made her way back to the infirmary, where Halanna was waiting for her. She had work to do.


	36. The Return of Eomer

Inside the infirmary, Halanna was busy with her work, although Nimoë saw that the girl's shoulders were tense and weary, and her hands shook as she handled the dressings. Crossing to her side, Nimoë asked, "How long has it been since you have rested?"

Halanna raised her hands in a gesture of ignorance. "I do not remember the last time I slept. There has been so much work to be done. I could not spare the time for myself."

"I am here now, and I can take care of things well enough on my own. Won't you take a few hours of sleep?"

Halanna's ash brown eyes looked longingly towards a pile of blankets on the floor. The occupant of that bed had been deemed healthy enough to leave the infirmary, and the blankets were warm and inviting. "Will you promise to wake me if there is anything you need?"

Nimoë nodded to the diligent girl, so eager to offer her aid. "You have my word."

Halanna sent a glance towards her brother and, seeing that he was resting peacefully, she crossed to the empty nest on the floor and curled herself into it, like an infant in its mother's womb. Soon her chest was rising and falling gently, her breath fluttering the strands of sandy hair, so unusual among the fair Rohirrim, which lay in front of her mouth.

She looked to Nimoë as innocent as a babe, although surely the ravages of war had ripped away much of her naïveté. Gently, the Elf picked a blanket off of the floor and laid it over the sleeping maid, a silent smile rising to her lips as Halanna's hand unconsciously gathered the blanket closer around her.

Nimoë then turned her attention to her charges, and began another round of the men, offering her strength and healing to them, losing some small portion of her own strength, but finding it replaced with the knowledge that what she was doing was needful and worthy.

Eowyn stepped into the infirmary and spoke quietly, "They have gone. They have passed into the shadows of the Paths of the Dead."

Nimoë bowed her head. She had known that it would happen, but the finality of her separation from Legolas was hard to bear. She stood and turned to face Eowyn. The Lady of Gondor was of a height with her, and her golden hair swirled about her, seeming to glow like sunshine. Her face, however, was pale, tight with grief and worry. The passing of the Grey Company clearly affected her deeply, but Nimoë could not guess why. "Thank you for bringing me word," she said, then turned back to her work.

"Nimoë," Eowyn's voice interrupted her. "May I have speech with you?"

Surprised, Nimoë nodded her acquiescence. "Come speak to me while I work. What do you wish to know?"

Eowyn sat down on the side of the cot where Nimoë worked, and took the hand of the man who was lying there, stroking it gently, to ease his discomfort. She took a deep breath and the spoke. "Is it true that you traveled with the Lord Aragorn, and he allowed you to come with him? You are a woman. Why is it that he allowed you to accompany him, but he will not grant that honor to me?"

Nimoë paused in her work, unsure of how to answer. "When I joined the company of the Fellowship, I was not as you see me now. I was in the guise of a man, and none knew me for what I was until I attacked your brother. After that, there seemed to be little way for Aragorn to be rid of me. The way behind was guarded, and Legolas would not allow me out of his sight."

Eowyn replied, "Eomer told me as much, that you were disguised as a man. I did not know then if he was speaking truth, or merely bending my ear with fanciful tales." She then lowered her voice, and spoke to herself in a thoughtful undertone. "So that is the way of it. It is not possible to ride to war as a woman, but if one is a man, none will think to stop you."

Nimoë finished her work and turned to rise. "I think that most of those here will be sufficiently recovered to ride within the next day. There will be some who need more rest, but none of them will die. How soon do you expect the King and his followers?"

Eowyn also stood and faced the Elf. "They will be here within the day. Shall I send word upon their arrival?"

Nimoë smiled. "I would dearly love to speak with your brother. I have come to think of him almost as a brother of my own. If he has a moment to spare, ask him if he would come to have speech with me."

"As you wish," replied Eowyn, and then she was gone.

#

Many hours passed by in a haze of work and song. Halanna had awoken after taking only a few hours of sleep, and insisted on tending to the less grievously wounded. As they day wore on, several of the Rohirrim were able to stand and walk out of the infirmary under their own power. Nimoë sent them off with strict instructions to eat and sleep, and do little else.

In fact, there were only two men left who caused her great anxiety. One of them was Henodred. Although his wound was responding to her treatment, and the fever had been greatly reduced, his mind continued to wander, far from the boundaries of reality. Often Nimoë found Halanna glancing surreptitiously his way, clearly concerned that he had not recovered as quickly as many of the others.

Occasionally, violent shouts came from his corner of the room. Many times he seemed to think that his sister was in danger, and still other times he shouted out for Eomer, who had been his commander. From his mostly incoherent ramblings, the women knew that he believed Eomer to have been killed at the battle of Helm's Deep. Halanna had tried to speak to him, to reassure him that she was not in danger and that Eomer still lived. They had seen no understanding in him, and Halanna turned away, her eyes swimming with tears that she refused to shed, afraid to agitate Henodred further.

Nimoë squinted into the deepening twilight, and beckoned to the young maid, who came to her side. "Halanna, we need lanterns. The night falls quickly."

"I will go and find some." The young woman turned to scurry out the door where she ran headlong into a tall, hard body. She bounced back with a cry and would have fallen but for an immediate strong grip upon her arm.

The voice was deep and potent, and asked with concern, "Are you injured?"

Before Halanna could muster a reply, Nimoë's voice cried out, "Eomer! You know not how glad I am to see you."

Eomer had not released Halanna, for she had not yet answered his question. She gazed up at his towering form and stuttered, "I... I am fine. I did not mean to trample you, sir. I was just going… to get… lanterns." Eomer was a great lord, and she found herself overawed to be in his presence. Her feeble explanation made, she freed her arm from his grip and scurried from the room, anxious to be away, humiliated by her inability to formulate a coherent sentence.

Bemused, Eomer watched after her departing form, then turned to Nimoë. "I cannot say that I am sorry to find you here. The Paths of the Dead are no fitting place for you."

Nimoë turned away from him, sorrow upon her. "Legolas followed the Paths, and my heart has gone with him. But there is work for me here." She gestured at those lying about her. "Most of these men will now be able to ride with you when you go to the aid of Gondor. But there is one who will not respond to my treatment. He thinks you dead, and I fear that it is poisoning his mind. Will you speak to him? I cannot say for certain that he will hear you, but it may ease him to hear your voice."

Eomer made a gesture of agreement. "Anything that I can do, I will."

Nimoë led him through the dimly lit room to Henodred's side. Halanna returned with two lanterns, and she came to stand beside them, holding the light high, casting a musky golden glow over his face.

Eomer knelt at his side, and, recognizing him, spoke his name sadly. "Henodred. So this is the end that you have come to. Lady Nimoë tells me that you believe me to be dead. I ask you, Henodred, if I were dead, could you hear my voice? Could you feel my hand in yours? If you hear me, listen to me closely. I am your commander, and I am giving you an order. You will follow the sound of my voice. Come now to this place and this time. Leave behind you the horrors of the battle. You are young. Too young to have seen what you did. But see it you did, and you must now live with that knowledge. I command you to return. Open your eyes and see me!"

Slowly, with a gentle flutter, Henodred's eyelids fell open, and his youthful gaze regarded the three who knelt or stood about him. His voice was strained as he spoke, "Eomer? You are alive? The orcs which passed by me did not trample you beneath their foul feet?"

Eomer shook his head, understanding now that the youth believe that some lack he perceived in himself had led to the death of his commander. "I am alive and I am well."

Henodred looked beyond him then and saw his sister, her face bathed in the glow of the lantern, and he smiled weakly. "Halanna. You have been here with me all along, have you not? I knew it, even though I could not break through to you. You have been a light in my darkness."

She gave a choked sob, and bit the back of her knuckles, overwhelmed with relief to hear her brother speak rationally again, to recognize her for who she was. Nimoë stepped aside and Halanna moved forward, setting down the lantern and softly stroking her brother's hair.

Nimoë pulled at Eomer's sleeve. "Come away. Let them have some time alone." Eomer stepped away, but his glance rested a moment longer on the touching reunion of the youthful siblings. Nimoë led him to a table, which was set against one of the long walls. There they sat, regarding each other seriously.

Nimoë was the first to speak. "When you ride forth, I wish to come with you. I will have done all that I can here, enough that those who are left behind can finish the job. In Gondor, you will surely have greater need of me."

Eomer reached across the table to take her hands in his own. His expression was grave as he spoke. "I have already had this conversation with my sister, and I am loath to have it with you. Eowyn must remain in Dunharrow. The people here have need of a leader, and that is her place. I would ask that you remain with her, to aid her in her work. If we lose the battle in Gondor, you will be the last hope of Rohan. I would that someone of your strength and power were here to provide a last defense."

"If the battle in Gondor is lost, then there will be no hope for the rest of us. The battle you ride to is the last defense. I wish to be there."

He looked down at his hands sadly. "I am sorry, Nimoë. I cannot bring you with us. You are dear to my heart and I love you as well as Eowyn, but I cannot bring her, or you. There is too much risk."

She smiled at him gently, "It seems to me that we have had this conversation once before, with somewhat less than desirable results."

Eomer nodded. "Still, I must make this decision. Not only for your safety, but for Dunharrow, should the shadow engulf it. I will not be swayed." He stood then to depart, for the start in the morning would be early. Nimoë rose with him, silent frustration pulsing through her veins. They walked together to the door, and there he dropped a soft kiss on her brow. "Do not hate me for this, Nimoë," he spoke, then turned to leave.

He was stopped short by a gentle voice. "Lord Eomer, I wish to thank you." He turned back and saw the shy young woman who had collided with him earlier. "Henodred has returned to his right mind, and it is thanks to you. I am in your debt. Although I have little to offer, any price you ask I will pay."

Eomer smiled down at her, "Halanna, is it? I ask only one thing of you. Keep your eyes on this lady here. I fear that she will do something rash." Only partially in jest he continued, "If you will keep her safe from her own sometimes misguided bravery, I will count our score to be even."

Halanna bobbed a curtsey to him. "I know not how I can influence the Lady Nimoë, but I will do my best."

Eomer looked at her once more, seeming to truly see her for the first time. So serious this one! Truly he did not expect anyone could stop Nimoë if she took it into her head to disobey, but he nodded to her. "I will hold you to it, Halanna." He turned then and left the two women staring at each other, wondering how what had just transpired had changed the relationship between them.


	37. Women Behaving Badly

They worked on into the night and Nimoë strained to pass as much of her healing song through to her charges as she was able. There was no rationing this time, only the driving will of one woman determined to strengthen the army of Rohan before the morning. A few hours before dawn, Nimoë sternly told Halanna to get more sleep and, though she was reluctant, the girl did as she was told, finding a comfortable corner to lie in.

Once Nimoë was certain that Halanna slept, she began to rummage through the room, delving through the small piles of the personal belongings of her patients. After only a few minutes she stood up from a pile, a large bundle clutched tight in her hands. Glancing about to make certain that she was not observed, Nimoë stealthily made her way out the door of the infirmary. She had done all that she could. The time had come to move on.

#

The faint light of returning dawn filtered through an open window and fell onto Halanna's sleeping countenance. The gentle warmth it brought with it awoke her and she sat up, looking about for Nimoë. It took only a moment to ascertain that the Elf was not in the building.

Halanna rose quickly and went about the beds of the men, many of whom were growing impatient with their confinement. Nimoë had told Halanna the night before which of the men would be able to leave with the army of Rohan in the morning, so the girl went to those men and made the final changes of bandages and checked for any regression in their healing. As soon as each one had been looked over, she sent them on their way with a smile and wish for success in their venture.

By the time Halanna had completed that task, Nimoë had not yet returned. She was growing concerned. It was unlike the Elf to disappear for so long when there was work to be done. She tugged impatiently on her hair, which she had pulled back into a long braid upon waking.

A man who was resting on a cot behind her spoke, "If you are looking for the Elf, I am afraid that you will not find her. I watched her when she left, some hours ago. Took my gear, she did. Burrowed around in my things until she found what she was looking for. She took my leather armor, and my cloak and helm. I did not ask her what she was about, for I could guess it well enough. She has gone to follow the Rohirrim to Gondor. I wish her well, for I know that she will bring her healing to others."

Halanna was rocked by the revelation. She had given her word to the Lord Eomer to keep Nimoë from doing anything reckless. And what had she done? Fallen asleep. Dismay overran her and she began thinking frantically how she could right her mistake.

Henodred called to her from across the room. "Halanna, is it time for me now to join my brethren in arms?"

Quickly she crossed to his side, and laid her hands against his chest, gently forcing him back into the bed, from which he was struggling to rise. "No, Henodred. You are not strong enough to go. You must remain here and heal, so that if the war finds its way here, you can aid the defense of Dunharrow."

He continued to struggle against her, and finally she was forced to sit down upon him, to make him cease his efforts. "Get off, Halanna. I wish to ride forth to battle. You cannot command me in this."

Not budging from her seat, she pressed his shoulders back down onto the bed, pinning him there. "Brother, even though you are my elder, if only by a year, and a man, right now I can pin you to your sheets. I am stronger than you. Does that bode well for a long hard march to battle? You must remain here. I will not leave this spot until you promise me that you will not do anything so foolish."

Henodred finally yielded, somewhat struck by his sister's uncharacteristic boldness. "Fine. You win, Halanna. I will stay."

"Good," she nodded, and stood up, releasing him from her weight. "Let me take your things and I will have them laundered. Soon you will be up and about, and you will want clean clothes to wear." She bent and picked up the pile of gear off of the floor, then walked purposefully out of the door.

Once on the outside, she fell back against the wall of the building, her heart pounding madly, as her decision was finally made. She pushed herself off the wall, and went behind the building, where she quickly changed out of her brown dress and soiled white apron and pulled on her brother's clothes. The trousers felt odd to her, and the coarse fabric between her legs made them chafe, but she knew with resignation that in order to follow Nimoë, she must be as a man. Next came the shirt and vest, which she covered with Henodred's leather hauberk. His earth-toned cloak she tossed about her shoulders, and tucked her braid down inside of it, then pulled up the hood. Finally, she bent and hefted her brother's long sword, which was sheathed in its belt. It felt heavy and awkward, but she slung it about her slight waist, tightening the belt to keep the too large pants from sliding off, then dropped the hem of the cloak down over it.

With a final glance at the infirmary, she nodded resolutely. She had made a promise, and she meant to see it through. Walking as nonchalantly as she could manage, she went to the stables and commandeered a horse, saying that she was to follow the riders to the muster at Edoras. The mount which was brought to her was tall and spirited, and shone like the sun.

All the Rohirrim learned to ride from their birth, so Halanna felt no trepidation as she vaulted to the horse's back. His name, she was told, was Goliant, and she stroked his neck, then urged him to a brisk trot, following the trail made by the larger passing of the gathered strength of Dunharrow.

#

Nimoë kept her face low, shrouded within her hood, but she glanced up the line of horses to Eomer, who rode at the fore with Theoden and Merry. The horse she rode was unusually docile for a horse of Rohan, but she had been assured by the stable master that he was well able to match pace with the others. The poor stallion had been saddled with the name of Bluebell because of his quiet nature.

Although she was happy to have a calmer beast beneath her, Nimoë found that she missed Finduél. Of course, there had been no question of bringing that noble beast. Eomer would have recognized her immediately. Secrecy was her ally, and any small thing she could do to make herself less conspicuous was of vital importance. So as she rode she kept up a quiet song, urging those about her to look past her and through her. They did indeed see her, for she was there, but to them her presence was as unnoticed as the sight of their nose upon their face. Always it was there, but the mind simply chooses not to see it, because it is of no import.

The company rode hard, intent on reaching Edoras and joining with the rest of the gathered strength of Rohan before the final run for Gondor. Nimoë turned her head to the side and saw something which piqued her interest. The hands which rested lightly on the reins of the horse traveling beside her were long and shapely, almost delicate. Aware of her own hands' femininity, Nimoë had stolen a pair of leather gauntlets to hide them. The rider beside her had taken no such precaution, apparently unaware of the danger a few bared inches of flesh invited.

Nimoë raised her glance to the rider's head and found deep blue eyes staring over at her, seemingly aware of her interest. Dismayed, she realized that in her shock she had forgotten to keep singing. The eyes which regarded her were deep in shadow, but Nimoë recognized their owner immediately.

Cautiously, so that no others would see, the Elf pushed her hood back, just a little. A flash of recognition flew across the fair face of the Lady Eowyn. The Lady moved her finger across her pursed lips, silently asking Nimoë not to reveal her presence.

The Elf nodded, respect for Eowyn's decision hard upon her. Then she kneed Bluebell to a quicker pace, putting some distance between herself and Eomer's sister. A rueful smile flashed across her face. Eomer would certainly throw a fit when he discovered what they had done. Ah, well. By that time hopefully they would have won the war. Either that or they would all be dead. In the face of that thinking, Eomer's reactions seemed to matter very little.


	38. The Muster of Rohan

**Author's Note: This chapter moves from one person's point of view to another's quite a bit. I hope that you will be able to follow it with little difficulty. As a side note, I did not mean for Halanna to be such a major character when I began writing her, but I found that I enjoy her greatly and so I have expanded her role. Look for more from her to come.**

#

Many hours later the company from Dunharrow reached Edoras. The city was filled to overflowing with men and horses, who had come in answer to the call to muster. Nimoë found it an easy thing to blend in with the restless men, and she found a wall to lean against, waiting for word to ride forth. There would not be long to wait, for the need was dire. In fact, rumor spread that a messenger had come from Gondor, bearing the Red Arrow, the ancient sign that was sent in times of greatest need.

Settling down to the ground, Nimoë managed to shut out the babble of humanity around her and she rested. Her eyes she left open, as Elves are able to do, just in case some curious soul looked too closely under her hood. Hopefully the sight of her grey eyes staring back at them would send them away before they looked close enough to discover she was an Elf and a woman.

#

Halanna had managed to catch up with the company by riding hard and recklessly down the hill trails from Dunharrow. Goliant was fleet of foot and strong of limb and she had no fear that he would make a misstep, sending them plunging over one of the numerous cliffs to their deaths. The men in the rear of the party had greeted her upon her arrival and welcomed her to their fold, clearly accepting her as a comrade in arms, never questioning her gender. Thus, in good company, she also rode into Edoras. Leaving Goliant in the hands of a stable boy, she began to mill about through the assembled men, looking intently at all that she passed, hoping against hope to run across Nimoë.

Unfortunately for Halanna, there were many men present who kept their faces hidden. They would be riding into the greatest battle of the age, and those who did not wish to be cheery with their brethren sought solitude within their hooded cloaks. No matter how closely the young woman looked at each figure, she could not discern the features hidden there.

Time passed by quickly as she searched, and it became clear that she would not find Nimoë before the massed army of Rohan rode forth. Impatiently, she plowed her way back through the throngs of men, bruising herself as she pushed past armored bodies, and remounted onto Goliant.

#

Eowyn had contrived to remain near to her brother and the King. Nearby, yet far enough as not to attract attention to herself. The two men had gone into Meduseld to take council with the other marshals of the realm, the great Elfhelm and the valiant Grimbold. Fists clenched tight with frustration at not being able to follow them without drawing undue notice, Eowyn sat down upon the hard ground.

Immediately she became aware of a small figure seated next to her, wringing his hands in consternation. "What ails you?" she asked, her voice low.

The figure looked up at her and shrugged in frustration. "King Theoden has forbidden me to ride with him to battle. I gave him my sword, but he will not chose to use it! All that I wish is to go forth to this war, to do my sworn duty to the King."

Eowyn felt pity well up within her. Well did she understand the feelings of this small creature. "If you wish to ride, I will take you before me upon my horse. What is your name?"

A smile lit up his face as he replied, "Meriadoc Brandybuck, sir. My friends call me Merry. I would be grateful to ride with you. To whom do I owe my gratitude?"

Eowyn paused only a moment before she answered, "My name is Dernhelm."

Minutes thereafter, the King and his marshals stepped out of Meduseld and all discussions round about ceased. Theoden raise his fisted hand and called out, in a voice loud enough to be heard by all, "Gondor is sorely beset! The enemy is at their gates. The Red Arrow has been sent forth, and we will answer its call. We ride to Minas Tirith. Forth Eorlingas!"

Eowyn stood then, and Merry followed behind her. They walked down the hill to the stable where they found her horse, and they mounted up on its back. Merry was uncomfortably aware that he was breaking the King's direct order, but because he loved Theoden, he could not but go with him, to do what he could to keep the King safe.

#

Goliant pranced underneath Halanna and she chastened him sternly, urging him to curb his hunger for speed until the great Gate of Edoras opened. Although she had not found Nimoë, she found that the energy and expectation of the gathered men was beginning to work its way under her skin. She felt very alive, as if some part of her, which had been kept hidden, had suddenly leapt into flame. Here was adventure of the sort that her father told in tales around the fire at night. Here was the heady sense of impending action which her brother had often related to her, when he returned home from his months of service to the King.

Her hand clenched the grip of Henodred's sword, and her palm seemed to itch with the desire to pull it forth, to feel its unfamiliar weight, to swing it about her, refining her cursory knowledge of swordplay. In their youth, Henodred had forced her to play at fighting with him, as they had no brothers. Shaped sticks had been their weapons, and it had been but a game, but Halanna remembered some of the techniques which Henodred had so valiantly tried to drum into her mind.

Yes, she thought. This was where she belonged. In this time, in this place. Here where the fate of nations would be decided.

#

Nimoë rose gracefully up from her seat along the wall, like a cat stretching its claws in the morning. With only a small effort, she found Bluebell and placed her foot into his stirrup, using the strength of her leg to rise. The saddle felt unfamiliar to her, as it had on the long ride from Dunharrow. It had its advantages, the primary of those being that she could mount on her own. As to disadvantage, the loss of direct contact lessened her Elven ability to communicate with the beast. That was not so great a loss, when one's mount was Bluebell, who seemed to be able to read her mind, without any effort on her part.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw something that made her look twice, peering through the milling horses and riders. Yes, there it was again. Merry was sitting in front of a rider, the set of whose shoulders was very familiar. It seemed that Eowyn had taken the Hobbit under her wing. Nimoë smiled. He would be safe enough with the valiant Lady of Rohan.

Finally, the great Gate of Edoras was pulled open wide, and Theoden, with his marshals behind him, thundered out from the city. All those others who had gathered began to stream forth, like water bursting from a dam. Nimoë edged Bluebell forward and joined the current of men and horses, allowing it to draw her forward, on to Gondor and the battle that would shape the destiny of Middle-Earth for all time.

#

**Author's Note: We are now beginning to build toward the climactic battle. I am finding it hard to keep myself away from my keyboard, I am so excited to get where I am going. Hold onto your seat, ladies and gentlemen, it's going to be a bumpy ride!**


	39. On the Eve of War

Four days the company rode, sleeping only a few short hours each night. At least, they thought it was night. When they woke on the first morning it was to a troubling vision. A deep shadow was upon the earth, blocking out the light of the sun. The unnatural darkness proved to make both horses and men skittery, and tempers grew short.

Nimoë listened intently to the snatches of conversation that reached her ears. When they had first ridden out, the men had regaled each other with tales of their prowess in battle, with tallies of the slain bloated out of all reason. The banter had been harmless, even helpful, buoying up their spirits, and making them eager for war. As the shadow had descended, however, there was more often a taciturn silence among them, with only the clatter of hooves for company.

Those who rode accepted the fact that the ever-present night could only signal one thing. The battle had been joined in Gondor, and the Dark Lord's forces had crossed the Anduin. As she rode through the long, lonely days, Nimoë found her thoughts most often upon Legolas. What had happened to him? Did they survive the passage through the Paths of the Dead? Deep in her heart, she felt certain that they had survived. Legolas had said that the shades of men held no fear for him, and she trusted his instincts.

Still, the not knowing was a slow torture. With each hour that passed she drew closer to the perilous war, and she knew that Legolas would be moving there just as relentlessly, if he had not indeed already arrived, and her heart was heavy with worry.

They rode quickly past a tall hill, which would have been visible for a long distance, had there been light to see by. It was one of the watchtower hills between Rohan and Gondor. In times of trouble, fires were lit on each hill in order, which could be seen burning from far and wide. The very absence of flame sent a shiver down Nimoë's spine. The only reason that the watch-fire was not lit had to be that none could escape to light them. It boded ill for the people of Gondor.

#

At the last encampment, Halanna had set herself along the edge of the army's circle of sleeping rolls. Determinedly, she sat awake, watching those about her, hoping against hope to find some sign of Nimoë. Three days she had searched and still found nothing. Earlier, she had asked in a husky voice of one of the other riders how many traveled in the company. Over six thousand men and horses, he had said.

Six thousand! No surprise then that she had been unable to hunt down her quarry. Since that time, she had striven to ride with a different group of men for each leg of the journey, hoping to maximize her chances of finding Nimoë before they reached the broad alluvial plains of Gondor.

Just as she was about to give up her watch, a slight figure crept silently away from the encampment, its head shrouded by its hood. Curious, Halanna got to her feet and followed with cat-like tread. The mysterious figure did not go far from the main encampment, only far enough that several rows of trees stood between themselves and the others. Halanna hid herself behind a large oak, and peered out. The figure had looked round to see if any others were about in the night. Seeing no one, its hands raised and pulled back the heavy hood.

Even in the deep and abiding darkness, Halanna was able to clearly see the nimbus of moon-pale hair that fell from the cloak. If she had had any doubt that she had found her quarry, it was dispelled when next the Elf lady placed her hands upon a tall cedar and began to speak softly, with a melancholy wistfulness to her voice, although Halanna could not understand the words.

Feeling like an interloper, Halanna turned her back, but did not leave her place. If Nimoë were to return to the encampment, she would have to come past her. Then she would speak.

#

Nimoë paused, many yards from the sleeping company. The darkness did not hinder her sight tremendously, and she looked up at the trees growing, tall and strong, around her. She inhaled deeply and sighed as the scent of cedar filled her senses. That smell seemed to bring Legolas closer to her wishful mind, and she walked towards the ancient tree which had so affected her.

Laying her hands upon its rough bark, she spoke softly, wishing the words could be spoken to her love, rather than this beautiful, but unfeeling, tree. "Legolas, my heart, my thoughts are with you always. I pray that you are well, that we will meet again some day soon. Blackness haunts the sky and with it comes an evil that cannot be borne by this earth. Either it will pass, or we must pass away forever." A solitary tear rolled down her cheek, like a sparkling gem, and it hung for a moment from her chin before falling down to water the roots of the steadfast cedar. "If I had but one wish left in this world, it would be this, my heart; that I could but see you smile at me for one last time. For in your smile I feel a thousand caresses, I hear a thousand words of love. There is no greater joy for me, and I have found in being parted from you that there is no greater loss."

Reluctantly, she pulled away from the tree, knowing that she must return to the company of riders. She had not gone three steps before a dark figure stepped out of the trees and into her path. A small yelp was caught in her throat, so startled was she, but she pulled it back, unwilling to call attention to herself. "Who are you?" she asked.

The figure reached up and pulled back its hood. Nimoë's jaw dropped in shock, "Halanna?! What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question. The Lord Eomer told you not to come. And he set me to keep you from it. Now here you are, and so here am I as well. Was this what you wanted?" asked Halanna.

"Surely you did not…" Nimoë paused, realizing that the girl was in deadly earnest. "Lord Eomer has no right to control my actions. I am not his subject. I come and go as I will. If I chose to risk my life, that is my right. But you… You are a different question. How can you defend yourself if it comes to a fight? What about Henodred? You are all that is left of his family. You must go back to him!"

Halanna forestalled the outburst with an upraised hand. "I know the arguments. I have made them to myself. I am not a child, Nimoë. I am a woman grown, and I know my own mind. Do you tell me now that you will not turn back?"

Nimoë stood firm. "I will not."

Halanna nodded in acceptance. "Fine. Then we will ride together, for I gave my word to keep an eye on you, and I intend to see it done. I will not fail to follow an order from a Marshal of the Realm."

Nimoë gave a short laugh. "It seems that you are the only woman who feels that way."

"What do you mean?"

Nimoë shook her head, pitying poor Eomer when he found out that two women had ridden to battle in spite of his orders, and yet another because of them. It seemed that he could not win, no matter which way he played his hand. She replied. "Even his own sister has disobeyed him. Eowyn also rides in this company." Seeing that finally Halanna had nothing to say, Nimoë pulled her hood back over her head. "Let us get some rest. Tomorrow we will reach Gondor, and the battle will no doubt be fierce."

Without another word, Halanna also shrouded her head, and followed the Elf back to the encampment. Upon returning, Halanna went and gathered her gear, bringing it near to Nimoë's, then they both slept.

#

When Nimoë woke into the brighter darkness of morning, there was a buzz about the encampment. Rumors swirled that some of the Wild Men had come in the night, and they were in council with the King and his marshals. Nimoë wondered what that could mean to them, and she shook Halanna by the shoulder to waken her. "Wake up! Strange doings are afoot."

Halanna rolled out of bed and came to her feet in one fluid motion. "What is it?" she asked. Nimoë told her what she had heard as together they forged a way through the mass of humanity. They came to within twenty yards of the King's tent before they could advance no further. Along with the other Rohirrim, they waited impatiently for someone to come out and explain what was happening.

Soon enough, Theoden and his marshals stepped out, accompanied by an unkempt man, with long, tangled mats of hair, and appearing to have moss growing off of his very skin. Theoden raised his hand for silence, then addressed the assemblage. "This is Ghan-buri-Ghan. He is Chief of the Wild Men and he has brought us news. Gondor is well and truly beset. Orcs hold the roads ahead of us, and they have dug pits and placed pikes across its width. We will not be able to break through their lines that way. Ghan-buri-Ghan has offered to have his Wild Men guide us along trails long forgotten to all save his people. In this manner shall we approach the Pelennor Fields. It may be that this little bit of a surprise could turn the tide of the battle in our favor. Give him your trust and he will not lead you astray. We ride!"

#

Nimoë and Halanna worked their way back to their horses and mounted quickly, wishing to be near the front of the army as it made its final approach towards Minas Tirith. By forcing their way through, Goliant leading, for he had a bolder soul than Bluebell, they managed to place themselves into the first eored which, Nimoë learned, were the fighting units of the Rohirrim. The army was spread thin, for the paths they followed allowed only four horses to pass together through them. While it would take only seven hours for the first riders to arrive at the Pelennor Fields, the final stragglers would not arrive for another three hours after them.

They rode in silence, eyes taking in the scenery as they passed. Nimoë was painfully aware that by the time the day was over, she might never see another thing, so each tree was a precious jewel, each wildflower a sip of fine wine. She glanced over at Halanna beside her and, while she could not see her face, she could tell from the way she sat her horse that the young woman's thoughts were not nearly so morbid as her own. Nimoë gave a sad smile. Halanna had never seen battle, so she could have no conception of what she rode into.

#

Hours later they came out onto a ridge overlooking the Pelennor fields. Nimoë heard Halanna draw in a startled gasp. What lay before them was like no idealized battle that she had ever heard tales about. It was a killing field. The wall defending the outskirts of the city of Minas Tirith had been breached, and the entire field was crawling with orcs and other spawn of evil. Fires burned both outside the city and also within. Bodies of soldiers of Gondor littered the ground.

Even as they watched, more soldiers were beaten back behind the main city gates, and a mass of mountain trolls advanced upon them, bringing with them a battering ram of unprecedented size. It was as large as the trunk of a centuries old cedar and it crashed relentlessly against the walls of the city.

Theoden, with Eomer, Elfhelm and Grimbold, looked down in horrified wonder. Seeing that there was, in truth, no time to waste, Theoden gave his command. "Lead forth the eoreds! Fight with strength, for there will be no other battle. For Rohan! For Gondor! For all the free peoples of Middle-Earth! Forth Eorlingas!"


	40. What Happened at Pelennor Fields

Nimoë had hoped to ride in the eored with Eomer but, in the crush of horses leaping forth to war, she found that there was no way to accomplish that goal. And so she kneed Bluebell onward behind Elfhelm, aware of Goliant and Halanna beside her. There had been no word spoken between the two women, but each assumed that they would remain together for as long as it was possible.

Wonderment came upon Nimoë as she heard a sound which seemed to rise from the very earth itself. Singing. The Rohirrim poured down the ridge like an avenging tide, and the song which went with them sprang from their throats like thunder, buoying their spirits and sending a wave of fear over the foes which came against them.

Halanna had drawn Henodred's sword and she brandished it before her with an unreasoning glee. Here she would wreak vengeance for the suffering her brother had undergone, for her parents, who had been slain by roving orcs sent forth from Mordor, and for all the other Rohirrim that had suffered under the heel of Sauron.

Nimoë also drew her sword, once again feeling the sense of wrongness that came over her with cold steel clenched in her fist. Her essential essence was so completely peaceful that even the presence of destructive weapons in her hand made her stomach clench. Still, she had no choice. Here was the battle, spread clear across the vast fields, that would decide the fate of the age.

Elfhelm led his eored forth at a run, breaking through the first line of defense, and they made for the siege engines which battered the walls of Minas Tirith and lofted balls of burning pitch into the city itself. Seeing their danger, those enemies manning the giant weapons of war turned to face the onslaught.

The song of the Rohirrim still rang true, and Nimoë took strength from it. The first foe to come against her was an orc, which had been manning a catapult, engaged in the firing of Minas Tirith. It came at her with a howl, and Nimoë slashed at it instinctively, but missed her target, only managing to graze its shoulder.

Halanna watched as the Elf struggled with her attacker and then she shouldered Goliant past Bluebell, placing herself in front of the sorely outclassed Elf. Burrowing deep into her memory, Halanna brought what Henodred had taught her to the fore. Strength seemed to flow into her sword arm, and she swung with precision, cleaving the orc's neck through to the bone. It crashed to ground in front of her and, in the brief respite, she turned to raise her sword in a gesture of victory to Nimoë.

Shaken, the Elf bobbed her head in response, while she concentrated on not dropping her sword from her trembling fingers. What was she doing here?! Knowing that she was no use in battle she had come anyways, and now she was a liability once again. She tried to move her hand, and found that it was frozen. Fear gripped her so strongly that she was paralyzed. Unable to move, she sat, focusing on breathing, trying to calm her taut nerves.

A pained cry rang out behind her and it broke through her paralysis. She turned and saw one of the Rohirrim sprawled on the ground, where he had been thrown by his horse. His hands clutched at his chest, and Nimoë saw blood spring from the corner of his mouth. This was why she was here! This was how she would prove her worth. "Halanna!" she called. "Will you guard my back while I tend to the injured?"

In the heat of battle, none noticed the name that was shouted, and Halanna nodded her agreement. Nimoë leapt off of Bluebell's back and ran to the injured man. When Goliant had taken up a place above her, the Elf took the injured man's hand and began to sing. She was forced to give him only a cursory healing, stopping his internal bleeding, but could do no more, knowing that there would be much more to be done before the battle was over.

She hailed a nearby rider and he made his way to her. "Here is an injured man who cannot be moved. Will you guard this place if I send others here? As soon as a way can be cleared, we can begin evacuating the casualties."

The rider agreed, and took up a defensive position over the man. Nimoë pulled herself once again onto Bluebell, and together she and Halanna followed the tide of battle. As time wore on, the precedent they had set with the first man became their established pattern. Halanna would stand guard while Nimoë did what she could for the gravely wounded. More than once the Elf would have been smitten had it not been for the quick sword of the maiden of Rohan.

Slowly Elfhelm's eored began to eliminate the enemies manning the siege engines, and it seemed as though the tide might be turning for them. Then the brighter darkness of day was suddenly brought to complete blackness. A deep shadow descended about them, and the Rohirrim faltered in their song and their fight. Surely some foul evil had joined the battle, and they looked about them in fear, wondering where it would strike.

Halanna's sword faltered, and an orc's weapon made it past her guard, gouging deeply into her thigh. She cried out in pain, and clenched the wound with her free hand, trying to staunch the flow of blood. Before the orc could finish its work, however, she marshaled her strength and swung viciously, cutting it down to the earth.

Then, once her immediate danger was past, she curled down over her wounded thigh, excruciating pain shooting through her, rendering her incapable of sitting straight. Briefly she sheathed her sword and tore a large strip from the hem of her cloak. Keeping one eye on what was happening around her she grunted as she lifted the leg off the saddle and wrapped the bandage around it, as tight as could be borne. As soon as it was done, she pulled the sword again, and forced herself to ignore the burning agony, to focus on her duty.

Nimoë stood up from the man she had been working over and asked, "Are you injured? Do you need my aid?"

Stoically, Halanna shook her head. "It is nothing. Save your strength for those who truly need it."

Nimoë was skeptical, as she saw the blood flowing freely from beneath the bandage, but she accepted the young woman's word. "Tell me if that changes."

Just as Nimoë was scrambling once again onto Bluebell's saddle, a terrible piercing wail echoed through the vast open plain. The Elf clapped her hands over her sensitive ears, trying to shut out the pain of the scream. As soon as the cry faded away to nothingness, the sun pierced through the shroud of darkness and every man, woman and creature of the shadow blinked in the sudden overwhelming brightness.

Something of great evil had been swept from the face of Middle-Earth, but what it was, or the means of its death, was a mystery to Elfhelm's eored. Taking advantage of the unexpected boon of daylight, he pressed them forward, intent on eliminating what was left of the siege engines.

At that moment, the sound of a great horn pierced the sky, and the Gates of Minas Tirith opened wide. An army of horses spilled through under the banner of Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth. Nimoë watched as they rode straight into the fray, and many of those who had been guarding the engines left their posts, intent on stopping the approaching army from reaching the rest of the combatants.

Halanna rode up to a torch, which was burning nearby. It had been lighting the workings of the catapult next to which it was placed. Brandishing the torch, the young maid set fire to the weapon, which had caused so much damage to the White City of Gondor.

Others saw what the hooded rider did and went about among the other engines, also putting them to the torch. Within minutes the entire line of weaponry was aflame, and Elfhelm motioned his eored to ride out into the field, where they could hear that the song of the Rohirrim had ceased, replaced by the fell cry of "Death! Death!"

Nimoë and Halanna followed along with the eored. Soon they had almost overtaken the eored of Eomer, and Nimoë caught an occasional glimpse of his fair head, towering high over the other Rohirrim. Onward they plunged, breaking through row upon row of their foes. The two eoreds did not slow in their progress, swept up in battle fervor.

A cry began to rise up among them, "The Corsairs are coming! Their ships approach at full sail! We must retreat or all will be lost when they land!"

Nimoë looked up and saw that indeed there was an armada of ships, with black sails full into the wind, bearing down upon the shores of the Anduin with frightening speed. Those around her began to look behind them, hoping to find a clear path to retreat. Unfortunately for them, in their haste to break through the line, they had left many foes behind them, and those were pressing now upon their flanks. The Rohirrim were surrounded.

Nimoë looked about her frantically, hoping to find some spot of weakness among the forces of Mordor. There was none, and the enemy was coming upon them with deadly intent.

Halanna's voice broke in upon her thoughts. "Even if we are surrounded, we must fight on. Find the injured, and we will do what we can for them. Some miracle may yet come to save us."

Nimoë nodded her agreement and dismounted from Bluebell, ready to heal those she could find, although expecting at any moment to feel a killing stroke upon her body. As she knelt next to a sorely wounded man, a voice she recognized called out, "It is not the Corsairs! Look at the banner which flies ahead of them. It is Aragorn, come unlooked for to bring us aid. He has survived the Paths of the Dead! If we can hold our position here long enough, it is possible that we will be saved!"

Eomer's words fell upon Nimoë's ears and her heart leapt into her throat. Aragorn was coming, and with him would be Legolas, unless he had somehow been killed on their road. A new sense of urgency filled her as she worked. They must manage to survive long enough for the rescuers to reach them. In her heart she knew that once Legolas reached her, she would be safe.

#

Legolas stood in the bow of the lead ship, beside Aragorn, Gimli, Halbarad and the sons of Elrond. His bow itched in his palm and his hands fairly twitched with the desire to join the battle which raged before them. His keen eyes could make out much of what was happening on the shore. "Aragorn," he spoke, "I can see Eomer. He bears the banner of Rohan. I fear that Theoden must have been killed." He peered closer, then he spoke with new urgency. "The men with him are surrounded. A multitude of the host of Mordor presses against them. I do not think that they can stand against them!"

Aragorn laid a restraining hand on the Elf's forearm. "Wait, Legolas. Only a few more minutes and we will reach the shore. Then we will ride with all speed to their aid. We must hope that they can last that long."

The Elf Prince swung his glance back behind them to the boats which followed in their wake. They were filled with the shades of the Oathbreakers, who had come now to fulfill their obligation to the heir of Isildur. Perhaps there were enough of them. It had to be enough.

Impatience ate at him, but, inexorably, the shore grew closer. When what seemed an eternity had passed and they came up against the banks of the Anduin, the men ran to their horses. A long gangplank was lowered to the shore and they rode down with deathly speed, setting their course for the white banner of Rohan.

Legolas' bow was in his hand, and his arrows flew into the enemy surrounding the Rohirrim. The fury of their assault took the enemy by surprise and they were able to crash through the ranks of Mordor, joining their strength with the besieged Rohirrim.

Aragorn and Legolas reached Eomer, and he the new King of Rohan hailed them. "I greet you, friends, and I thank you for your aid. Great evil has befallen us here, I am afraid."

Aragorn answered him, "Then let us avenge it ere we speak of it."

Legolas had not ceased his rain of death, but as he swung around to face a new set of foes, his eyes fell on a sight which brought his motion to a halt. A rider had been knocked from his mount, but as he fell, his cloak fell back from his head, and a mane of moon-pale hair blew back, revealing her identity to his keen Elven sight.

"Nimoë!" he cried. She was far from him, with many men and horses between them. He watched helplessly as she struggled to her feet, her sword raised against an attacker. There was no other rider nearby to aid her. Ignoring the rest of the battle raging around him, he raised his bow and sighted down the length of the arrow's long shaft. Riders of Rohan, engaged in deadly combat, wove back and forth through his sights and frustration and fear rose up within him, seeing that he could not fire a clear shot.

Eomer had heard the Elf's cry, and horror welled up within him. Already he had found his sister lying dead upon the field, next to Theoden. Would he now lose another woman he loved? What was she doing in this place? He saw that Legolas had Nimoë's adversary in his sights, but was unable to fire. He turned his horse, and was drawing nigh to the Elf Prince, when a sudden movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. An axe was flying through the air, on a straight path for Legolas' undefended back.

Before he had a chance to think, the new King of Rohan leapt from his saddle, intent on knocking the Elf off of his mount and out of harm's way.

Finally, Legolas had a clear shot, and none to soon, for the orc had raised its sword and was about to swing a killing blow at Nimoë's fair neck. His fingers released the taut bowstring and he knew as he fired that the shot would fly true. He was about to pull another arrow from his quiver when something crashed into him from behind, sending him flying from his horse.

He landed flat on the earth, and shook his head to clear it as he stood. Turning to see what had happened, he paused, dumbstruck. Eomer lay sprawled across Arod's back, an axe protruding from his side.

He was not breathing.


	41. The Healing of Eomer

Nimoë landed hard upon her back. Bluebell was nowhere to be seen, having bolted from the carnage laid about him. His gentle soul had proven to be his downfall. She had lost Halanna in the crush several minutes past, and she saw with horror that she had been separated from the rest of the Rohirrim. Panic welled up in her as she saw an orc register her fall. It raised its weapon and advanced upon the fallen Elf, so much more tempting a target when not guarded by the vicious mounts that the Rohirrim rode.

Nimoë scrambled to her feet and held her sword out in front of her, attempting to look menacing, while the trembling of her arm clearly showed her weakness. The first blow fell and Nimoë deflected it, but the reverberations of the clash rendered her sword arm numb. In desperation, she tried to brandish the weapon again, but there was no response from her deadened limb. Now would be the ideal time to use her song of war, but she knew that she had used too much strength already. The power needed for offensive magic was tenfold greater than that which she used for healing, and there was not enough strength left in her to muster it.

Her grey eyes grew wide as she saw dark death bearing down upon her in the form of the hideously twisted orc. Finally, too late, she felt the tingling return of life in her sword arm, but there was no time to raise it. Time slowed to a crawl, and every detail of what was happening was as clear to Nimoë as if she had an eternity to regard it. A squeal of delight rose from the creature's throat as it raised its sword for the final blow. Spittle flew from its lips, and it gnashed its teeth in anticipation of the kill. Vaguely, Nimoë saw her own hand, the one without the sword, flung up in front of her, vainly trying to guard herself from the death stroke.

Then, as the sword began to fall, an arrow, flying straight and true, pierced through the brainpan of the fell creature, sending it sprawling to the ground, where it shuddered once and died. Time returned to its previous rate of passage then, and Nimoë staggered to her knees. Her fingers reached out, disbelievingly, and stroked the white fletchings of the arrow. Legolas! He had come.

#

Legolas looked up at Eomer's still form in horror. Wildly, he looked about for a horse, and found the horse-lord's mount standing nearby. He pulled himself up onto the unfamiliar saddle, and cried out, "Rohirrim! Guard your King! I go to bring him aid!"

Eomer gave every appearance of death, but Legolas could not accept that as fact. The Rohirrim had already lost one king this day. Must they lose another? And because of him? Even as he crashed his way through the melee, guilt ate into him. If he had been paying closer attention to what was going on around him, Eomer would not be lying dead across Arod's back. But how could he have done differently? Nimoë needed him, and he could not have let her die!

His eyes searched the milling field ahead of him and he spotted her, running through the carnage, apparently trying to find her horse, which was nowhere to be seen. Clearing the rest of the combatants who stood between himself and his love, Legolas cantered up behind her and reached down, pulling her up onto his horse.

Her eyes filled with relief at seeing him alive, and though he was overwhelmed with emotions at finding her whole, he could not give voice to them. "Nimoë, Eomer has been gravely wounded. I fear he is dead."

"Take me to him," she spoke, cold dread chilling her through to the bone.

Legolas wheeled Eomer's horse about, and drew his Elven blade. The quarters were too close to fight with a bow while Nimoë was behind him.

It did not take them long to reach the spot where the Rohirrim had gathered in a defensive circle around their fallen liege. The men cleared a path for the two Elves, and Nimoë scrambled down to the ground. Arod had remained still, unwilling to move, somehow aware that his rider was sorely hurt. "Legolas, help me get him off of the horse."

Legolas dismounted and went to her side. Together they eased the horse-lord down, staggering under his weight, and they laid him on his side, with the axe wound pointed away from the earth. His eyes were open and glazed, and still no breath stirred in his body. Tears formed in Nimoë's eyes as she clasped his lifeless hands. Aware that Legolas stood guard over her, she bent all of her mind to the fallen king.

Softly, she began to sing, and what she found brought her only small hope. Although he seemed as one dead, some small spark of his life force still smoldered within him. There was a chance, one magic she could use to bring him back from the edge of death, but to save him she would have to give more of herself than she had ever been able to give before. She must be willing to die for him.

Nimoë realized that she could make no choice but one. She loved Eomer as her own brother and, above all, he was a King. For the sake of Rohan, she had to try. Nimoë pulled her resolve down over her like a knight's visor, and grasped the axe by the handle, pulling it free from Eomer's body. Before fear had a chance to change her mind, she placed his face between her hands, and laid her lips softly against his. Then she opened her throat and poured her song forth.

The power flew through her body and into his, on the very breath of her lungs. The air she breathed out was infused with tremendous strength, the likes of which she had never thought herself able to muster. It filled his lungs and, as it spread through his body, life began to flow again through his veins.

Nimoë felt her life force flowing out of her, giving new hope to this man who had been like a brother to her. Her limbs began to deaden as the blood slowed in her veins. With grim determination she ignored the frightening sensation and forced herself to keep singing. She could sense that the wound in Eomer's side was knitting, sinews re-twining and severed skin grafting itself together. A terrible burning began in her side, and she knew that the wound was manifesting itself on her own body.

Her breath gurgled in her lungs, but still she pressed on. Her vision began to swim erratically and, just before she passed into oblivion, she saw a blessed sight. Eomer's clear blue eyes opened and he saw her, and she knew she had succeeded. Then she collapsed upon him, blood soaking from her side, and all the world went dark.

#

"Nimoë! No!" The scream was torn from Legolas as he realized what she was doing. He watched in dismay as the wound on Eomer's side knit itself closed and, at the same time, blood began to pour from his beloved. Too late he tried to stop her, but she collapsed over Eomer, her body as lifeless as his had been but moments before.

Legolas' heart ceased beating for long moments as he watched her, silently pleading for her ribs to move, for breath to flow through her body. Eomer softly pushed her silken hair back from her face, and the Elf Prince saw her eyes. The light of her luminous soul no longer burned within them, and a filmy haze seemed to coat their crystal clearness.

"Nimoë," Legolas sobbed, tears clouding his vision. He fell to his knees next to Eomer and the stricken maid. Softly he laid his hand upon her cheek, and the cold clamminess of it was too much for him to bear. "No!"

Rage swelled in his breast, and he leapt up onto Arod's back, brandishing his two Elven blades like mighty scythes of death. "To me!" he cried. "We must clear a path free to Minas Tirith!"

His mind raced. The Houses of Healing were within the city. If they could bring her there fast enough, perhaps she could be saved. She was not dead. It could not be. Not his Nimoë. Not now, when he had finally found her again.

Eomer sat up slowly, cradling the lifeless Elf maid against his chest. Memory of his actions swept over him, and he understood what must have happened. Nimoë had given her life to save his. Legolas' cry filtered into his mind, but he saw that the Rohirrim hesitated to follow him. Understanding what Legolas planned, he called out then, his voice powerful and commanding, "Follow Legolas! We must win through to the city!"

As cautiously as he could manage, he draped Nimoë over his mighty steed's neck and mounted up behind her. A glance behind showed him that the remaining ships of the armada had landed and the host of undead warriors upon them were sweeping out onto the plains. It would be enough. They would overrun what was left of the army of Mordor.

#

Terrible, crushing pain was upon Legolas' heart. Much as he wished to deny it, Nimoë was almost certainly dead, and it felt as if a part of his very soul had been ripped from him. With his logical mind he understood why she had sacrificed herself, but his logical mind was far from being in control of his body. His righteous anger was forcefully demonstrated to any minions of Mordor who came before him, for he dispatched them to their deaths with inhuman strength and speed.

The Rohirrim followed behind him as he cleared a path through the remaining army of the Dark Lord, and they wondered what thing had so possessed the Elf that he fought with such careless passion. It was a marvel to those who followed that he had not been killed, for in his fury he seemed to care naught for any danger to himself, so intent was he on breaking a path clear to Minas Tirith.

Eomer was the only one among them who understood, and he wished the Elf strength and speed, for he too feared that Nimoë would never again open her shining eyes in this world. The battle raged around him, and he kept his sword at the ready, in case any foe came between himself and the healers in Minas Tirith.

Around him he saw the host of the shadow crumbling. Their commanders had been killed and the new onslaught from the riverbanks, coupled with Prince Imrahil's army, which had managed to fight its way clear through to the Rohirrim, were methodically cutting the demon-spawn down to their deaths. Hope rose up within him as he realized that they were winning. This battle was as good as over, and the side of right had won.

Ahead of him, Legolas broke through the final ranks of orcs, and the way was clear to the Gate of Minas Tirith. He reined in his horse and waited for Eomer to reach him. Together they spurred their horses onward, and the Gates were flung wide to receive them, along with the rest of the victorious army, into the bosom of the city.

Legolas looked him about and spotted a young boy nearby. "You!" he called, "Can you lead us to the Houses of Healing?"

The boy stared at the Elf Prince, struck dumb by the powerful anguish that radiated from him, and he nodded mutely. Without waiting another moment, Legolas pulled him up onto Arod and said, "Lead us there as if your life depended on it, child."

Silently, the boy pointed ahead of them, and Legolas and Eomer urged their horses into a run up the steep hills of Minas Tirith. The boy looked over at the body that the tall man of Rohan had pulled to a sitting position in front of him. His jaw dropped in wonder. "An Elf Lady? So fair and lovely is her face. Is she dead?"

Legolas felt tears of anxiety well up in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. "Pray that she is not, boy. If she dies, I cannot vouch for my actions." He knew that he was frightening the child, but the overpowering fear which crushed up against him made him curt. He risked a glance over at Nimoë, and his stomach clenched when he saw that her skin was becoming a marked shade of grey. Nausea swept over him, but he fought it down, spurring Arod to run faster still.

That stouthearted beast put all of his strength towards climbing higher into the city, although his lungs burned and his limbs felt as though they were made of heavy iron. Eomer's mount strove to keep pace, but he carried more weight, and fell a few steps behind.

Finally, the boy spoke, "There it is. Through those doors."

Legolas was on the ground before the sentence was completed, and was waiting when the horse-lord arrived. Eomer handed Nimoë's unresisting form down to him. Her weight was as nothing to the Elf Prince and he crashed through the heavy door, calling, "Someone help us!"

From around a corner footsteps echoed closer and shortly a form appeared. Almost nothing could have raised Legolas' hopes except the man who stood before him now. "Gandalf! Is she dead?"

The ancient wizard crossed the space between them and placed his hands on the sides of her neck. His faces was grave as he regarded Legolas. "If she lives, it is at some level that I cannot sense. She needs Aragorn."

Eomer had just entered the door, and he heard Gandalf's statement. "I will find him," he said, and before Gandalf could speak another word to him, the King of Rohan had left, intent on finding the Dunadan from the North.

Gandalf beckoned to Legolas. "Follow me and I will show you a place she may lie."

Legolas followed the wizard, but did not feel his legs as they moved, nor did he hear any other word that was spoken to him. The only thing he was aware of was Nimoë's still form cradled in his arms. Her blood had seeped onto his clothes and it was warm against his skin, but the places where his bare skin touched hers found it clammy and cold. They arrived at a small private room, and he laid her down upon the bed with reverent care.

Gandalf left them, but Legolas was not aware of his departure. He clung to Nimoë's flaccid hand, and his head he bowed over her inert body. Of a sudden, the sobs he had been fighting could no longer be restrained. "Nimoë, please come back to me!" he cried, his shoulders heaving with the intensity of his sorrow. "Do not leave me alone!" His voice fell to a cracked whisper, "Do not leave me alone."

His strength finally lost out to his soul-wrenching grief, and he collapsed over her, his face pressed into her shoulder, sobbing brokenly. Salt tears soaked into the fabric of her tunic and he clung to her convulsively as if, simply by the strength of his will, he could pull her back to the land of the living.


	42. What Happened to Halanna

Eomer rode with all the speed he could muster back down the steep paths of Minas Tirith. Frustration dogged his heels, for he found his way blocked in many places by the masses of men who had returned from the battle. Their faces were weary, but filled with the light of hope. They had won the battle. If they could manage that, then was there not a chance that they could win the war?

It became clear that if he wanted to get anywhere, he would have to abandon his horse, for it was too large to plow a path through the milling soldiers. He slid down to the earth and began to shove his way through the mob, chafing at the delay in finding Aragorn.

Eomer felt like a fish swimming upstream. He was the only soul trying to move out of the city, and it seemed as if, for every step forward that he gained, the current swept him back another two. Still he pressed on and, inexorably, he made his way through the crush of men.

Coming out on the other side, he began to run, certain in his mind that Aragorn would not have entered the city, for the time was not yet ripe to claim his birthright. A few stragglers moved slowly up the hill past him, and one of them caught his eye. The man was so small that he could have been little more than a boy, and he stepped gingerly, apparently unable to place weight on his right leg. Why was no one aiding the clearly injured youth? He was still some ways down the hill from the horse-lord and, as Eomer ran, he watched the youth struggle to ascend into the city. One last step proved to be the lad's undoing, and his leg crumpled under him, sending him crashing to the dusty ground.

Eomer advanced upon his position, but pulled up short, as in frustration the figure threw back the hood of his cloak. Familiar sandy brown hair spilled forth, and a face from his recent memory grimaced in pain.

"Halanna?" Would it never end?! Where were all of these women coming from? Eomer felt as if he would burst. How many ladies of his acquaintance were suffering or dead this day?

He reached her side and assisted her to stand. "Halanna? Do you know where I can find the Lord Aragorn?"

Her pain filled brown eyes squinted up at him, registering her recognition. "Lord Eomer, I failed," she spoke, shaking her head in humiliation. "I tried to keep her safe, but I've lost her, and I know not what has happened to her."

With ungentle hands, Eomer took her jaw in his hand and forced her to look at him. "Nimoë lies like one dead in the Houses of Healing. Her only hope lies in Aragorn. I ask you again, where can I find him?"

It took Halanna only a moment to digest this information. Then she pointed back down the hill. "His brethren have raised a pavilion on the Fields. You will find him there."

He nodded curtly. "Thank you." Roughly, he grabbed the arm of a man who was passing by them on his way up the hill. With eyes of steel he told him, "Take this woman to the Houses of Healing. You will answer to me if any further harm should befall her."

The man glared for a moment at the horse-lord for his rough treatment but, as he feared the anger in the tall man's face, and he took Halanna by the arm, leading her slowly up the hill. Satisfied that all aid he could offer to the maid of Rohan was given, Eomer continued on down the hill, all his thought bent on reaching the heir of Gondor.

#

Soon he had reached the Gates of the city, and he looked out upon the battlefield. All around were the bodies of the dead, allies and foes together. He shuddered at the realization that he would be numbered among them if not for the sacrifice of the Elf maid who was lying within the city. His hand strayed to his side, which ached, but was otherwise unscathed.

The pavilion was easily seen and he ran towards it, leaping over those who lay in his path. Upon reaching the doorflap he burst in, startling those who were gathered there.

"Aragorn!" he called, seeing the ranger's stern visage among those gathered about a small table. "You are urgently needed in the Houses of Healing."

The heir of Gondor nodded. "Another messenger has just reached me. I know of Faramir, Merry and Eowyn. I go to them momentarily."

For a moment Eomer stood as still as if he had been struck by lightning. "Eowyn, did you say? But she is dead!"

"Nay she is not. Sorely injured indeed, but not yet dead. The foe which came against her was too great. Did you know that she has slain the King of the Nazgul? It was she who sent the shadow from the field of war. She and Merry, the young Hobbit."

Relief spread like a warm tide through Eomer. There was a chance then that she might live. But what about Nimoë? "The Elf maid Nimoë also awaits you there. She saved my life, Aragorn, but in doing so, she may well have killed herself. Please come with all haste."

Aragorn nodded to those surrounding him. "Imrahil," he spoke, addressing the noble Prince of Dol Amroth. "I leave you in command here. I will return as quickly as I may." Then he ran from the tent, wrapping himself in a long cloak, and Eomer followed him out the doorflap, where he watched him mount up onto his horse and ride, as if the Dark Lord himself was behind him, towards the city.

The emotions of the day finally crept up upon Eomer and he sank to the ground outside of the pavilion. For long moments he sat there, shaking uncontrollably, trying to gain some measure of control over himself. He felt helpless. Eowyn might live, but she had defied him, coming away to war, and she had nearly gotten herself killed. And Nimoë… He could hardly bear to think of her.

If she was truly dead he knew that remorse would follow him for the rest of his days. But what could he have done? Had he not tried to save Legolas, she would have been killed by the orc, and even when he had willingly risked his life to save her, the Elf maid had given it back to him. It had been her decision, and there was nothing he could do to change it.

Wresting his thoughts away from such painful wanderings, he brought his mind to the one care that he might be able to do something about: Halanna. It was true that she was injured, but it appeared that she would survive. He would find her and see what aid he might offer. Glad to have come up with a course of action where he might be able to make a difference, Eomer stood up resolutely. Then he followed after Aragorn's retreating horse, back into the White City.

#

As he climbed back up the steep hill of the city, Eomer looked ahead of him and was shocked to see Halanna and the man he had set to bring her to the Houses of Healing still struggling up the hill. Her hand rested on his shoulder, but that seemed to be all the aid that the man of Gondor was willing to offer her.

Eomer felt his hands ball into fists and he chased after them. Upon reaching their side, he reached down and pulled Halanna's slight form into his arms. Glaring down at the useless man, he spoke, "I expected more from a man of Gondor. Go! Get out of my sight before I forget myself."

The man scurried away, and Eomer felt the woman resting in his arms give a deep sigh. "Do not be afraid," he said to her. "I will bring you to the healers. You will not suffer any more needlessly."

As he walked, she gazed up at his drawn face. Quietly she spoke, "My King, it is not seemly for you to be carrying me. I am only a country girl, and beneath your notice."

He looked down into her pained brown eyes and smiled ruefully. "If not for me, you would not have come to this pass. It is my fault that you are so sorely wounded."

She shook her head to deny him. "The fault is mine, for I allowed fear to slow my sword. And then I lost Nimoë in the heat of battle. I have failed you in every way, my King."

Eomer had slowed his pace, afraid of what he would find when he reached the Houses of Healing. "I asked for more than you could give. I had no right. Nimoë is…" Tears rose unbidden to his eyes and his voice caught in his throat. "I cannot bear to think on it."

Halanna regarded him with deep pity, for clearly he suffered terribly. "It is alright to cry, my King. I will tell no one."

The sound of her gentle voice, and the tenderness with which she spoke, broke the last boards holding back the floodwaters, and he felt tears begin to spill down his cheeks. They blinded him with their strength and he staggered to a bench on the side of the path. Wearily he dropped down onto it and turned his face towards the wall, trying to hide his weakness from those who passed by.

He was aware of Halanna's soft hands wiping the tears away from his cheeks, murmuring words of reassurance. "All will be well. You will see. The Lord Aragorn will awaken your sister and, surely, if so many people love her, Nimoë cannot help but come back to us as well. Please, Eomer, my King, take comfort in that. All will be well."

Halanna was the only thing about him that was sure and strong, and he held her tightly to him, taking comfort in her unqualified solace. Finally, as his tears began to run dry, she asked, "My King, please, my wound pains me greatly. Are you strong enough now to face the healers?"

Eomer shook his head, clearing the last remains of his grief from his eyes. "Forgive me, Halanna. I am ready." Then he stood and brought her the rest of the way to the Houses of Healing, as prepared as he could be for what he would find there.


	43. Life or Death

Aragorn walked with purposeful strides into the room where Nimoë was laid. The grey pallor of her skin was the first thing to strike his notice, and he moved forward, gently lifting Legolas' body off of her. "I think it would be best if you waited for me outside, my friend."

Legolas shook his head and stood his ground. "I will not leave her."

Aragorn sighed. "As you wish." He knelt down beside her bed and felt the side of her neck. Her skin was unnaturally cold and there was no life pulse to be found. As he listened for breath, not a sound reached his ears. Carefully, he folded back the blood-soaked tunic, revealing the gaping hole in her side. Blood had ceased to flow from the wound and, while the crusted scabs proved that her body had tried to heal itself, there could be no doubt in his mind. Nimoë was gone.

Aragorn stood and took Legolas firmly by the shoulders, regarding him gravely, then he shook his head with deep sorrow. "I am sorry, my friend. There is nothing I can do, for she has already passed beyond all aid."

The Elf Prince felt his last remaining hope fall from him, and his legs would no longer support him. He crumpled where he stood, and reached out his fingers to grasp Nimoë's dead hand, which lolled over the edge of the bed. He bent his head over it, clinging as if his own life hung in the balance. "No," he shook his head vehemently. "I cannot lose her."

Aragorn reached down and gently passed his hand through Legolas' long, silken hair. "I am so very sorry. I must go now, for there are others who need me." Then he left the room, almost grateful to be away from the heart-wrenching scene.

Pulling himself off of the floor, the Elf Prince sat himself on the edge of her bed, where he bent over her, softly brushing her hair back from her brow, caressing her beloved face, the curve of her jaw, the full swell of her lips. Her eyes he had closed, unable to bear the lifelessness that he found there. "Nimoë," he pleaded, "I cannot live without you. Without your smile the sun will never again be warm upon me, for what is its light when compared to yours? You fill my soul, and if you are gone I will become an empty shell, with no heart inside me. How can a body live when it has no heart? There is no way. If you leave me now, I will not be long for this world."

Tenderly he bent down and laid a soft kiss upon her icy brow. "Can you condemn me to death, dear heart?" He reached back and took her hand in his, continuing to caress her cheek with the other. "You cannot leave me like this."

Legolas closed his eyes then and bent to place one last kiss on her gentle lips before they stiffened in death. His tears rolled down his face and fell into her softly parted mouth. At last, when he could bear the sweet suffering no longer, he raised his head away from hers.

He pressed her fingers tightly in a final farewell, then froze in place. Although it was as soft as the fall of a rose petal, she had returned the pressure! "Nimoë," he whispered, not able to believe what he had felt. "Nimoë, can you hear me?"

While he still could sense no motion of breath in her lungs, he perceived that her skin was beginning to lose its greyish hue. "By all the Valar…" He leapt from the bed. "Hold on, Nimoë," he pled, "Hold on."

Then he ran from the room, shouting at the top of his voice, "Aragorn!"

#

Cold. Biting, chilling, life-killing cold. Frost clung to every inch of her body, freezing the blood in her veins, stilling her breath, sending all thoughts into icy oblivion. Her body did not exist. All that remained was the searing pain of ice. All except for one small thing.

Something salty and wet fell upon her deadened tongue. A wisp of memory floated about her, like a dream, but more remote. This was something that she had tasted before. Something sorrowful. Painful. An unfamiliar slow pounding began within her, pulsing warmth throughout her body. Strange that she could not place the taste and the odd sensations it evoked. Strange that such a bitter sip should waken the heart.

A new feeling crept into her awareness. Pressure. Some place, immeasurably far from her consciousness, there was something pressing against her. Muscles stirred reflexively, flexing with their newfound freedom from numbness and pain.

Then the pressure was gone, and a terrible sense of loss crashed over her. Alone! So terribly alone. Lungs which she had forgotten how to use screamed for air and her rib cage expanded, bringing tearing, wrenching pain.

Life was tingling back into her body, stabbing her with excruciating arrows of agony. Vainly she struggled to move, to speak. Anything. Panic began within her as, with her new awareness of life, came the realization that she was paralyzed. Something was keeping her mind from controlling her body.

Blackness was the only thing she could see and she realized that her eyes must be closed. Or perhaps she was blind. Maybe she was dead? No. Death could not involve such agonized torment. What was happening? She was so very alone, and so very frightened.

Suddenly, a warm, comforting presence melted into her awareness. It was like the sun, rising after a long, frigid winter, melting the ice from her body, releasing her limbs from their frozen rigidity.

Sounds began to filter into her mind, music low and urgent, which she recognized as voices, but it was as if they spoke words she had never learned. One of those voices was the sun. All of her being strained towards it, aching to reach out and pull it closer, for the chill of death was still upon her, and surely such a powerful heat could break through the last bastions of winter which held her captive.

It was back! The welcome pressure on what she now recognized as her hand. Fingers which rebelled against her commands grasped weakly, although she wanted to cling to it like iron to a lodestone. Once more a voice spoke and this time she thought that she understood some of what was said. "Call to her, Legolas. I think that only you can bring her back from wherever it is that she now resides."

Then the voice with the power of daylight resonated through her mind, echoing about like the deep tones of a mighty bell. "Nimoë, my heart, it is Legolas. I need you to fight. Fight like you have never fought before. I am here beside you and I will not leave your side. Hear my voice and come to me. Take all of my strength, for it belongs to you. Can you feel my hand, my love? Feel it pulling you back to me. As long as I hold fast to you, you cannot fade away. Nimoë, I need you. You are my world and my life."

All the while that the voice pleaded with her, Nimoë struggled to grasp onto it, to pull herself along the line of harmonious resonance and out of darkness. When the last sentence was spoken, she knew that she could not help but obey. Her eyelids fluttered open and one word fell from her lips, so softly as to be almost inaudible. "Legolas."

#

Almost, he did not hear his name as it came out of her mouth on a soft sigh, "Legolas." Almost. But hear it he did, and he saw her eyes flutter open, and they were no longer clouded and glassy. They gazed up at him wonderingly, as if his face were the only thing they had ever seen, or wished to see.

The joy which welled up inside him threatened to overwhelm him. She was alive! By some miracle he could not begin to fathom she had returned from the jaws of death. Still, she was gravely wounded, and even as he looked down into her glistening eyes, Aragorn was working feverishly over her, sealing her wound with an herbal poultice and then with needle and thread.

Nimoë did not seem to feel the pain, and she did not remove her gaze from him, as if she feared that if he left her sight she would never find him again. He could feel from her limp hand how very weak she was, and he silently offered her his strength, wishing that he knew how to transfer his life force, the same way that she did, for gladly would he have traded places with her at any time, even while he had thought her dead.

Ever so slowly, the corners of her lips curled upwards, and her eyes smiled. "Legolas," she whispered again. Then her lips kept moving, but he could not make out what she said.

"Say it again," he beckoned, leaning his ear down close to her lips.

She drew a shallow breath and spoke again, and this time he understood her words. "Never leave me."

He wanted to crush her to his chest, but he knew that he had to be gentle with her, so he satisfied himself with squeezing her hand and pressing a fierce kiss onto her brow. "Nothing in this world could drag me from your side. Never have I been more frightened in my life, and I swear that, were the world crashing down around us, I would hold you close and we would face the end together. Without you life is not worth living."

It seemed that it was reassurance enough, for she nodded minutely. Then her eyes fluttered shut again, but it was into a healing sleep, and Legolas smiled over at Aragorn, tears of gratitude and joy flowing freely down him face. "She will live?"

Aragorn nodded, although wonder was hard upon him. "She will live."


	44. Departure for the Black Gate

Eomer entered once again into the Houses of Healing, this time bearing Halanna in his arms. A stout woman garbed in brown bustled forward to greet him. "What's this? Another woman, I see. Is there no sense left in the fairer sex at the end of the age? Well, what are you waiting for? Follow me and I will see what can be done for her."

Eomer watched after the woman bemusedly for a moment, then chased after her rapidly retreating form. The portly woman turned in to a room that housed three men, who were laid in cots, with clean bandages wrapped tight around their injuries. She motioned to the remaining cot in the room. "Put her here."

Eomer set Halanna down as softly as he could, attempting to spare her leg any further hurt. Still she grimaced, and he saw with chagrin that her face was ashen with pain, although she stubbornly refused to acknowledge it. The healer pushed him back from her bedside and began to unwrap the soiled tourniquet which Halanna had torn from her cloak. Once that was free, the stout woman's strong hands tore away the pant leg, leaving the wound clear to her view, and the entirety of Halanna's leg clear to the view of any other person who was nearby.

Eomer felt decidedly uncomfortable looking at her bared flesh. "Your pardon, good woman, but is there not some other room where it would be more seemly for her to rest?"

Turning away from the injured girl, she advanced upon him, her finger waggling precariously close to the end of his nose. "Ioreth is my name, sir, and as much as it may shock you to learn this, we have been fighting a war. This house is full of men. Men! There are only two other women here, and they are too gravely injured to have other patients nearby. This will have to do."

The horse-lord backed away, his hands raised to fend off the herb-woman. "I understand, Ioreth! Please, have you word of the two other women here present? One is my sister."

Ioreth had turned back to Halanna, and began bathing the edges of the wound with herb-steeped water. "Ah! Then you would be the new King of Rohan. Your sister will live. The Lord Aragorn has pulled her back from the foul poison that was eating away her life. Do you know what he did? He made me find kingsfoil. Kingsfoil! What powers could that weed have, I wondered, but I had it found for him. Yes I did. Then he steeped the herb and used it to leech out the poison. Now when I think on it, I remember that my old teacher had told me, Ioreth, in times of greatest need, do not forget the weed which bears the name of the King. All the others scoffed at him, so I had put it from my mind. But I knew it all along! The hands of the King will be the hands of a healer, says the old lay. So you will know him. Well, know him I did…"

Halanna gazed over the top of the woman's head, and her eyes met Eomer's with a commiserating smile. Did this woman ever stop to take breath?

Eomer cleared his throat, finally damming the flow of Ioreth's words. "What of the Elf maid?"

"Oh, her. I can't say that I know. I had heard that she was dead, but just minutes ago that other Elf came running through here screaming for the Lord Aragorn like the hounds of Sauron were after him. Can't say what that was all about."

Eomer looked down at Halanna's drawn face. "Will you be alright…" he began.

Before he could finish the question, she forestalled him with a raised hand. "Go. Go and then bring me word." A wry grin spread across her face as she continued, "I am sure that Ioreth will take good care of me."

That good woman began to prattle on about the type and quality of care she would provide, and Eomer slipped quietly back out the door. Once free, he looked about for someone who could give him directions. A young man in the garb of a healer led him through a few winding passageways, then motioned to a closed door and retreated.

Taking a steadying breath, preparing himself for the worst, he softly nudged open the door. The sight that greeted him made the clouds of darkness which had hung heavy about him evaporate like mist. Nimoë lay unmoving on the bed, but her fair skin once again glowed a warm pink and about her chest was a clean white bandage. As he entered into the room, Legolas looked up and urged him to quiet with a finger placed in front of his lips, then he beckoned the horse-lord forward.

Stepping up next to the Elf's side, Eomer whispered, "What happened?"

Legolas shook his head, unable to explain what he did not himself understand. "One moment she was dead and the next thing I knew her hand moved within mine. If the earth had opened beneath me to swallow me whole I could not have been more surprised." A smile spread clear across the Elf's inhumanly fair face. "She will live, Eomer."

Of a sudden, Nimoë began to moan, her head rocking from side to side, and beads of sweat began to form upon her brow. Her lips moved and one word crept forth, "Halanna." Immediately, Legolas was at her side, taking her hand in his and trying to soothe her, for her was afraid that she would reopen her wound.

But she would not be calmed. Her voice became more urgent as she repeated the name over and over again. "Eomer, who is Halanna?" asked the concerned Elf.

Eomer's eyebrows had raised when he heard the name. "A friend of Nimoë. She lies here within this house, but she is not so grievously wounded. I will bring her here. Nimoë must fear that she is dead."

"Go quickly."

#

Eomer opened the door to the room where Halanna was resting and, seeing that Ioreth had just pulled a clean brown dress over Halanna's small form, he pulled her up into his arms, calling over his shoulder to the distraught healer, who was protesting his actions with vigor, "She will come to no harm. A friend needs her."

Halanna clung to his shoulders, alarm evident in her wide doe-like eyes. "Does she live?"

Eomer nodded. "She fears for you, and we are concerned that she will do herself an injury."

Arriving at Nimoë's door, Eomer pushed it open with his back and carried the girl through. The Elf maid was still moaning Halanna's name, unaware of Legolas' concerned presence. Halanna spoke quietly to Eomer, "Set me on my feet by her side, but do not stray, for I am afraid that I will need to lean on you."

Eomer obeyed her mutely, and with her free hand Halanna gently stroked Nimoë's fevered brow. "I am here, Nimoë. I survived the battle. My wound is as nothing. You need have no fear for me. We both have survived."

Finally, Nimoë stopped thrashing. Sweat was beaded on her brow and her body shook with the fever which had come upon her so suddenly, but her mind was quieted. Halanna looked at her worriedly, then spoke to Eomer. "I do not think that I should leave her. This fever may mean that her wound is not healing cleanly. I would feel easier in my heart if I kept an eye on her. Some of the healers here seem to know even less about their work than I."

Eomer nodded, and turned to Legolas. "Take care of her, will you? I will send someone with a cot for Halanna, and then I must go to see my sister. Send word if you have need of me."

The Elf nodded, and took Eomer's place supporting Halanna. "Thank you, my friend. My hopes are with the Lady Eowyn, for I have heard that she suffered a great hurt."

Eomer turned and departed.

#

Hours later, Halanna was sleeping on the cot which had been brought for her, and Legolas sat nigh to Nimoë, bathing her face with a cold, damp cloth, trying to bring down the raging fever. He knew that an infection could not be the cause of her malady, for Elves are impervious to such things, but in the same way he could not explain her miraculous recovery, he could not come up with an explanation for the fever.

There was a soft rap on the door and a timid looking page stepped into the room. His hands shook, and he clasped them together to still them. "Prince Legolas? The Lord Aragorn requests that you attend him in his pavilion upon Pelennor Field."

Legolas was torn. His duty was to go to Aragorn, but he had promised not to leave Nimoë, and with her suffering so, he was loath to break his word. Halanna had opened her eyes and she spoke, "I think that she will not wake for many hours, Prince Legolas. I will stay with her, so she will never be alone. Go to the Lord Aragorn. He would not call you without need."

So Legolas helped Halanna into his chair, and handed her the cool cloth. "Take good care of her." Then he dropped a kiss onto Nimoë's hair and left the room.

#

When, hours later, he returned, there was a haunted look upon his open features, and his feet moved with weary slowness. He crossed the room to Nimoë's beside, and laid his hand upon her shoulder. One look at her scarlet cheeks showed him that the fever still raged within her. Mirrored in his face was a battle of emotions, and Halanna watched him with trepidation, for clearly some great weight of worry was upon him. "What is it, Legolas?"

He raised his deep blue eyes to meet her gaze. "We won the battle of Pelennor Fields, but it is not the end. The One Ring still hangs in the balance. If Sauron were to obtain it, all of our struggles would be for naught. It seems that all we can do to further the cause of its destruction is to launch an attack against Mordor itself. Sauron does not know where the Ring may be, but he fears that one of the great leaders of men among our number may wield it against him. If we can focus his will against us, then we give Frodo that much greater a chance to reach the fires of Mount Doom."

He paused for breath and brought his gaze to the Elf maid lying in the bed. She looked so very small and helpless lying there, soaked in her own sweat. Every fiber in him cried out that he could not leave her. She needed him more than anything else in this world.

With grim determination he wrenched his gaze away and turned back to Halanna. "Denethor looked into his palantir before he went to his death. Mordor is far from defeated. A vast army still abides there. We must ride forth against an enemy much stronger than our own forces, to the very Gates of Mordor. If we do not succeed, then all hope will be lost." Then he came to the crux of his worry. "I must go."

Halanna's voice was low and comforting as she replied, "Our very hopes of life go with you and those who will brave the Black Gates. Do not fear for Nimoë. I will see to it that all that can be done for her is done." Painfully she rose, and Legolas reached to support her. She spoke firmly then, giving him the best advice she could muster. "Speak to her now. Explain why you must leave. She will hear you and understand, although she cannot respond to your words. I will wait outside, so that you may be private."

With grateful heart, Legolas assisted the steadfast maid of Rohan to the hallway, and he bowed his head to her. "Your kindness is a balm to my soul, Halanna. I will not be afraid for Nimoë if I know that you are with her, for you have proven yourself to be a true friend."

#

Halanna leaned up against the wall, waiting for Legolas to reappear. Heavy footsteps echoed towards her, and she glanced up to see Eomer approaching. "Do not enter now, my King. Legolas is saying his farewell."

Wearily, Eomer leaned against the wall next to her. "Are we not friends, Halanna? Please will you not call me Eomer?"

"As you wish."

There was silence between them then, and Halanna was loath to break it, but finally her curiosity got the better of her. "Eomer, will you be riding with the others to the Black Gate?"

He nodded morosely. "Although it is clearly a course of great folly, it is the only choice that we can see. Having met Merry and Pippin, though, I feel that my determination must not be swayed, for the Hobbits have hearts as strong as steel. If there is a way, I must believe that the Ringbearer will succeed. I will do what I can to give him aid."

The hopelessness that she heard in Eomer's voice saddened Halanna and, before she had time to think, she found her fingers reaching out to twine themselves through his battle hardened grasp. "My thoughts will be with you always. I know that you cannot fail."

Something that Eomer had thought dead within himself began to beat slowly, but relentlessly, to the surface of his consciousness. He looked down on Halanna's trusting face, so wide-eyed and innocent, and felt his heart begin to swell. He fell to one knee in front of her, although he kept her small hand within his own. "My Lady, will you grant me a token to bear with me into battle?"

A slow flush began on her cheeks, and the pinkness accentuated the pale freckles which blossomed on her skin. "I have nothing of value to offer, but take this," she said, unwinding the worn leather thong which tied the end of her braid. "May it be a reminder of those you have left behind, who put all of their trust in you. Bear it in good heath, my King, my friend."

Taking the dusty strap, Eomer bent his head low and pressed a kiss against the back of her hand. Then he rose, standing close to her small body, smiling down into her face, so full of youthful optimism. He reached out to wrap his arms about her and pull her close against him, smiling despite himself at the hope which this small woman made beat within his heart. They were standing so when the door opened.

Legolas stepped out and stopped short, taking in the scene before him. Even in the midst of his own personal torment, he rejoiced to see a true smile on the face of his friend. Eomer became aware of him standing there and he backed away from Halanna, although he kept his hands firm on her shoulders.

Legolas addressed the maid of Rohan, his stance firm and resolute, "Take care of Nimoë, and take care of yourself, Halanna. We will do all that we can to keep you and all of Middle-Earth safe from the Dark Lord."

She bowed her head to him, accepting his charge. Then Eomer assisted Halanna back into the sickroom, and settled her in the chair next to Nimoë's bed. Before he left, he regarded Nimoë's painfully fair visage. Never would he see anything so lovely, and his heart still beat more quickly at the sight, but, finally, he truly accepted that love between them was never to be. He would be as a brother to her. Nothing more, nothing less. It was time to move on from his doomed infatuation.

Halanna's hand on his own broke him out of his reverie. "Go, Eomer. Go to victory." The King of Rohan raised his fist, which grasped her worn leather hair strap, and bowed over it, offering his service to this strikingly strong, yet strangely innocent, woman. Then he turned abruptly, walking with dread purpose out of the Houses of Healing, with Legolas at his side.


	45. The Fall of the Shadow

Three days had passed since the army of seven thousand men, six thousand on foot and one thousand mounted, had ridden forth from Minas Tirith. Three days of taut nerves and little sleep. Halanna paced gingerly on her injured leg, back and forth beside Nimoë's bed. Frustration tore into her, and she wanted to slam her fist up against the stone wall. Despite all of her efforts, and those of the healers of the city, the Elf remained deathly ill.

Water which Halanna poured over Nimoë's face evaporated against her heated skin almost as quickly as it fell, and when she changed the dressings on her wound, it was clear that there was a deep infection burning into the Elf. Halanna wanted to scream That was not supposed to happen! Elves are immortal, and they cannot suffer from infection.

Every single remedy that she tried seemed to have no effect and the lady of Rohan was at her wits end. Not once had the Elf maid awoken, and Halanna had begun to fear the worst. Heaving her breath out in a heavy sigh, Halanna sank down on the edge of the bed. Mechanically, she dipped the cloth in a bowl of cold water, and wiped it over Nimoë's face, her chest and arms, which were bared, while the rest her body was covered only by a light sheet.

As she was bathing the Elf's face, Halanna almost cried out when a welcome sight greeted her. Nimoë's eyes were open and most of the haze of fever was gone from them. Her voice crackled, for Halanna had had little luck forcing water down her throat, but she managed to croak, "How long?"

Halanna grabbed the water bowl off the table and pulled Nimoë to a sitting position, helping her to drink deeply of the cold, clear liquid. "It has been three days since you came back from the dead. I've been afraid that you were going to leave us again."

Nimoë quaffed deeply, and when she finally came up for breath, it was in a gasp. "Then it is three days since Legolas rode to the Black Gate. Has there been any word?"

Halanna shook her head regretfully. "Nothing, although sorely do I wish for tidings. My King rides in the vanguard, and I fear for his safety." Then the maid of Rohan shook her head vigorously, unwilling to dwell on her misgivings. "Here, lie back down and let me take a look at your wound."

When Halanna unwrapped the bandage, a gladsome sight greeted her. The edges of the wound were no longer wreathed with burning red streaks, and there was no longer a smell of rot rising up from the gash. Briskly, she cleaned the wound one more time, allowing her work to hide her guilty relief. Guilty, for she had realized not long after Eomer had ridden forth to war that if it were not for Nimoë's selfless act, then her King would be dead, and she would never have known the joy of his chivalrous affection.

Much as she hated her selfish nature, Halanna found that she did not regret Nimoë's actions, but if the Elf had died, the guilt upon her would have been tremendous. To mask her emotions, she spoke with professional detachment. "Well, it looks as if you have fought off the infection, and your fever has broken. It seems you will live to see another day, and perhaps even the rest of this age."

Nimoë reached out to clasp Halanna's hands with her fever weakened fingers. "Thank you."

#

Four days later, both women were able to leave the confines of the room. Halanna's leg wound had sealed itself completely and, while she walked with a limp, she bore it like a medal of honor. Nimoë leaned heavily on her shoulder, for she was still very weak, but she felt the need of open air and the company of trees.

They walked among the gardens of the Houses of Healing, breathing in the fragranced air, and Nimoë took strength there, for her Elven nature thrived in the company of nature. Halanna pointed up to the battlements and Nimoë brought her gaze to where she pointed. Knowing that Halanna could not see as clearly as herself, she said, "It is Eowyn. Eowyn and a man that I do not know, but his hair is as dark as a raven's wing. They seem to take great pleasure in each other's company." She turned to Halanna then, "I wonder if there is a view clear towards Mordor from that height."

Halanna had secretly harbored the same thought, but had been unwilling to mention it to Nimoë, afraid that the Elf would not be strong enough to venture up the stair. "We can certainly find out."

Together they made their way, slowly and painfully, to the battlements, where they stood, some distance from the Lady of Rohan and her unknown companion. All that they could see was the line of mountains stretched out against the horizon. They loomed dark and menacing and both women unconsciously shied away from resting their gaze too long upon them.

Nimoë spoke under her breath, "There lies all of our hope. The darkness rests heavy upon us, and we cannot know what has come to pass at the Black Gate, but surely the stroke of doom must fall soon. Oh, Legolas, come home safe to me!"

Halanna wrapped her arm around the Elf maid and held her close, offering her comfort, even while her own heart ached with unspoken pain. As they stood thus, wrapped in each other's arms, an awesome sight unfolded before them. A tower of smoke-like clouds rose beyond the distant mountains, overwhelming them by its vastness, and lightning flashed throughout it. The sight filled them with fear and they drew close together, drawing courage each from the other.

A great rumbling filled their ears and the building began to shake under their feet. Halanna braced her arm against the edge of the battlement, and balanced the two of them as best she could. Once the terrible quaking passed, the strange dark cloud flew upward and out, disintegrating into nothingness. With its passing the sun broke through the clouds which had shrouded the sky for the past week, shining so brightly it seemed that it was trying to make up for its absence with new brilliance.

Nimoë and Halanna turned and faced each other, smiles of wonder upon their faces. "Do you think…" began Halanna.

Nimoë finished the thought, "The stroke of doom has fallen. It seems that our fate is now decided and, while I feel sure that a great evil has been swept from this land, we must wait now for word. But I have great hope, Halanna. Surely the Ringbearer has completed his task! The only question that remains is whether it was done soon enough to save the lives of the valiant men of the West. Let us pray that they still live."

Her heart pounded fast within her breast, and her limbs desperately wanted to pace, to work off the impatient eagerness that swept over her. "Help me down from here?" she asked.

#

The two women were unwilling to return to their sickroom, so they waited in the gardens for word. Great worry was upon them, so they did not waste their energies on speech. Nimoë sat propped against a young oak, enjoying the feel of its smooth bark, trying not to dwell on her concern for Legolas. Surely he was well. His skill as a warrior was unmatched. Surely no servant of the shadow could lay him low.

Of a sudden, a new sound reached her keen Elven ears. It was the sound of the air being swept aside by great wings, and a deep avian screech split the sky. "An eagle is coming," she spoke.

Soon even Halanna could hear the cry of the great bird, and its words brought tears of joy to her eyes. "The Dark Lord has met his doom! Frodo of the Nine Fingers, Ringbearer, has sent Isildur's Bane to the fires of Orodruin! Rejoice, free people's of Middle-Earth, for your days of terror are at an end! Sing with great rejoicing! Sing of victory! Sing of the heroes who have prevailed against all odds! Sing!"

All throughout the city voices raised together in joyous song, and the sound of it echoed round about. Nimoë filled her lungs and joined her voice to that of the others, and the music which poured forth was a balm to those who heard her.

Caught up in the power of the unified voices of Minas Tirith, Halanna felt the battlements of her hard fought self-control crumble, and she fell to her knees at Nimoë's feet, burying her face in the folds of the Elf maid's gown, sobbing uncontrollably.

Even as she sang, Nimoë reached down and stroked Halanna's long sandy hair, offering her comfort, understanding that all of her pent up fears were finally being given free rein now that the threat was over. Within the song of victory, Nimoë wove words of power, offering Halanna all the reassurance that she had to give, and as the sun began to set into night, the two women sat together in the gardens, arms wrapped tightly about each other, with tears of joy streaming from their eyes.


	46. Reunions

Five mornings later, Halanna helped Nimoë pull a pale blue gown, the shade of an early morning sky, over her head. They were in a colorful tent which had been erected, along with many others, along the eastern shores of the Anduin, nigh unto Cair Andros. By noon, if they rode without pausing for rest, they would reach the Field of Cormallen, where the victorious armies were encamped.

Word had reached the Houses of Healing quickly, requesting the two women to come, as soon it was safe for them to travel, to the celebrations at the Cormallen Fields. It seemed that the news of victory brought new life and strength to the Elf maid, and when the messenger had told her that he had seen Legolas with his own eyes, Nimoë had fairly floated. Her new buoyancy of spirit had hastened her healing and, within a day, she declared herself to be fit for travel.

Bluebell had been found wandering, lost and lonely, near the west bank of the Anduin, and he was brought back into the city. Such a gentle beast was deemed safe for Nimoë to ride and so, together with Halanna, once again astride Goliant, and in the company of almost a hundred other citizens of Minas Tirith, they rode out, crossed the Anduin, and began to make their way north through the verdant hills of Ithilien

Nimoë looked down at herself, and almost could not recognize what she saw. All through her long journey she had worn men's garb, and even in the Houses of Healing she had worn only the drab linen clothes of the healers. The soft silk which hung about her now felt as unfamiliar as snowfall to a fish. Gentle folds fell from her narrow waist, and the fullness of the skirt was enough that she would be able to ride with ease. At least as much ease as her still healing wound would permit.

Once Nimoë had been fully dressed, Halanna pulled her own gown over her head. When Ioreth had come to bring them clothes fitting for the celebration they would attend, Halanna had stubbornly refused the frilly concoctions which had been laid in front of her, saying, "I am not a noble Lady. It is not fitting for me to dress as one. Is there not something more simple?"

Finally, she had compromised on a heavy silk dress of a deep rust hue, bare of ornamentation, but for a jeweled belt, which hung low on her waist. Hooking the belt into place, Halanna smoothed her skirts with nervous hands. "Will that do?" she asked the Elf maid.

"You look radiant. Come, let me brush out your hair. There is no need today to keep it bound tight." Nimoë pulled her onto the cot in front of her and wielded a hairbrush with a vengeance. Halanna's hair was tempestuous, falling in unruly waves to her waist. The rust color of the dress made the red highlights in her sandy hair sparkle, and her freckled cheeks seemed to glow with health and happiness.

Once that was done, Halanna returned the favor, and soon Nimoë's pale hair was glistening, falling smooth and straight down her back and about her shoulders, almost as if it were a cloak of soft moonlight. Satisfied that they were ready to make the final leg of their journey, they went to find their horses.

Before mounting, they gripped each others' hands in a spontaneous demonstration of affection and hope. Halanna had finally worked up the nerve several days past to tell Nimoë of Eomer's declaration of service to her, and the Elf maid had rejoiced, thinking that her two dearest friends would make each other very happy.

Fragrant breezes blew, filled with the flowering, blooming scents native to Ithilien and, with beauty surrounding her and the knowledge that in a few scant hours she would be back with her love, Nimoë felt as if she were flying. The countryside moved past her in a hazy blur, and she gave her trust over to Bluebell to follow the rest of the company, for she could not have concentrated on anything as mundane as steering her horse.

At long last, the pavilions of the encampment came into view. The entirety of the field was a riot of color, looking as if a giant had chosen that place to plant his flower garden. The large company with which Nimoë rode broke their horses into a run in their eagerness to reach the victorious army.

Nimoë knew that, much as her heart longed to quickly cover the ground that separated her from Legolas, her wound would not hold up to the stress of a run, so she held back. With a grateful heart, she saw that Halanna was still beside her, unwilling to leave her friend to enter the encampment alone and forgotten.

#

The new group of arrivals from Minas Tirith swept into the camp like a bubbling tide. Legolas stood with Gimli, Pippin, Merry and Eomer, watching the riders intently. Messengers had been riding back and forth ahead of the entourage, and he knew that Nimoë was among them. Unconsciously, he ran his hands over his tunic, trying to brush out any wrinkle, wanting to look his very best, although why he should worry was beyond him. Nimoë loved him forever, whether he was wrinkled or not.

As the newcomers came near he saw with trepidation that his beloved was not among them. What had happened? She should be there. Had something happened to her? He broke away from his companions, followed quickly by Eomer. Mingling among the men and horses, they tried to get news from the riders. Every man they spoke with assured them that the two women had ridden with them, but could not explain where they had disappeared to.

Legolas was ready to find his horse and ride out to see what had become of her when a soft, mellifluous voice reached his ears, "Legolas."

He spun around and his heart stopped beating. Nimoë was seated high upon the back of a horse of noble bearing, but he did not even see the beast. He could not tear his eyes away from the stunningly entrancing vision in front of him. Through all the time he had spent in her company, nothing could have prepared him for the full power of her beauty.

The pale blue silk which clung to the skin of her torso was flecked through with sparkling stones, which reflected the sunlight, making her sparkle with luminous radiance. The grey of her eyes soaked in the glacier blue of the gown, transforming them from their usual serious hue to a more joyous demeanor, and the gentle flow of the dress managed to enhance her delicate femininity.

Breaking himself free of his paralysis he went to the horse's side and lifted his arms up to her. She bent down slowly and let herself fall into his waiting embrace. Once her feet were firmly upon the earth, he bent forward and claimed her lips with a reverent kiss. "You are well. I feared for you so."

She smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling, "As I did for you. But, Legolas, we will never need to fear again. We can face the coming ages together, with no taint of shadow over us."

The two Elves were oblivious to anything happening around them, but others were aware of what transpired, and were shocked when the King of Rohan approached the smaller woman, whose modest dress marked her as one of common birth, and knelt before her.

Halanna had already dismounted from Goliant and, when Eomer knelt before her, she laid her hand softly on his head, wrapping her fingers into his unruly blonde hair. He raised his face to look into her warm smile. With his strong fingers he grasped her free hand and pressed something small into her palm.

Slowly she lifted her hand and opened her fingers. There lay the dusty leather strap which she had given her King as a token. Emotions overwhelmed her and she closed her hand tightly around it.

"This I carried with me into the battle before the Black Gate. When all other hope faded into darkness, then I drew strength from it, knowing that if I failed, I would doom you to death. I could do nothing less than fight on," he declared, low and seriously.

Uncomfortable at the strange gazes which were glued upon her, she urged Eomer to rise. "My friend, I thank you for your kind words, but you must not show such preference for me in front of these men. You are King, and as such you will be expected to cultivate love with some woman of high station."

Eomer rose and turned to face those who stood staring, daring to make this dear woman feel inferior. His voice was powerful as he addressed them, "Is there a man among you who will challenge my right to pay court to this woman? Halanna has fought with as much valor as any among you, and is a healer of great skill. Although she is of common birth, she is the most uncommon mortal woman I have ever known. If any objects to her, I will gladly challenge him to combat for the honor of my lady!"

Throughout his declaration, Halanna was blushing furiously, and wanted nothing more than to run and hide from the prying eyes about her. When no one spoke to refute Eomer's right to pay court to her, he turned back and took her hand in his. "Does that answer your objections, Halanna? I will allow no impediment to the growth of our relationship. I see in you something pure and rare, and I treasure it, as I wish to treasure you. Until the end of my days."

Overwhelmed, Halanna fell into his arms, hiding her face in his broad chest. He held her against him fiercely, his eyes staring fire at any who looked to closely or too long, and he rocked her back and forth, eager to reassure her that he was true in his intentions. That he would not leave her.


	47. The Arrival of Galadriel

Days flew by as rapidly as summer rain and finally the massed army of free men returned to the White City. As the sun rose on the first day of May, they crossed the river at Osgiliath and rode with great pomp to the gates of Minas Tirith. Revelry spread throughout the city as the Lord Aragorn was made welcome by Faramir, Steward of Gondor, who Nimoë recognized as the man with whom Eowyn had stood upon the battlements of the Houses of Healing, while awaiting the stroke of doom.

A ceremony was held before the Gates and, with grave honor, Faramir brought forth the crown of the Kings of Gondor. Frodo carried the noble helm to Gandalf the White, who set the it firmly upon Aragorn's head. And Behold! A wondrous transformation came over him, and he was no longer Strider, mysterious wanderer of the north, nor was he Aragorn, battle-weary warrior. Before them now stood King Elessar, radiant in the mantle of his power, strong and noble of bearing. All who saw him bore no doubt in their hearts that this man, the heir of Elendil and Isildur, was truly their rightful born king and sovereign.

When the ceremony was completed, they entered into the city, to receive the accolades of the grateful citizens. The Fellowship walked together, for the part they had played in gaining the victory had won them great renown. Nimoë stubbornly refused to walk with them, saying, "Never was I one of the True Fellowship. Nine walkers to match the nine Nazgul. Once Gandalf was discovered alive, my part was played out, for ten was not to be borne. Only did I come along for the journey, to offer what aid I could. I will accept no laud for what little I did. Go, Legolas, and take pleasure in the honor that is your due. I will be waiting for you at the end of the day."

So Nimoë and Halanna rode together, near the rear of the crowd which flowed into the city, as relentless as floodwater. Their hearts were gladdened at the colorful banners, and cries of welcome, which were echoing about the city walls, and they smiled at those who chose to greet them.

#

A full month later the memory of that day was still fresh in their minds, but also there was an impatience which hung about them. Aragorn was restless, often looking out from the heights of the city. Looking for what, none could say, but it seemed that until this unknown arrival, nothing of great import could be undertaken. Thus, the company relaxed in the bosom of the city and the country round about it, waiting restlessly for what would come.

Nimoë and Legolas walked hand in hand among the gentle foothills of the Ered Nimrais in the soft golden light of morning. Wildflowers blossomed like a fragrant carpet over the mossy ground, and the two elves took pleasure in the heady aromas that swirled up to them on the gentle breezes. Between them there passed no speech, for they needed it not. Their only communication was passed through the soft caresses of sensitive fingers, the flow of awareness that sped from one through to the other.

They reached the top of the hill and sat upon its verdant prow. Nimoë lay down fully, resting her head in Legolas' lap, where he stroked her hair absently. Aware that his thoughts were far away, Nimoë asked, "What is it, my heart? Why do you dwell in far off thoughts?"

Legolas pointed up into the sky, where white gulls were wheeling on the eddying air. "Do you not hear them? Their voices speak of the sea. Ah, the sea, Nimoë! I have yet to see it, but I feel the pull of it upon my heart. Many long years have I lived on these shores, and I feel the yearning to be away across the Western Waters."

Nimoë was silent for long moments. When she spoke, her voice was solemn, "Once Galadriel told me that a part of me still clung to this world like a deep-rooted vine. I find that she spoke truly. The cry of the gulls does not stir the sea-longing in me as it does in you. Perhaps it is because I am so many centuries younger. There is so much left for me to see!"

Legolas bent down and kissed her gently on her full pink lips. "I forget that there is such a difference in our ages. I hope that we will soon be able to leave this city, for the call of the gulls disquiets me. I do not wish to be parted from you, but the sea-longing is hard upon me."

A small smile curved on the corner of her lips. "Will you not let me distract you?" Her hands reached up and twined themselves through his silken hair, pulling him down onto the grass beside her.

Gazing at her enchanting face, Legolas managed to block out the cry of the gulls. "So beautiful," he whispered, then wrapped his arms about her, reveling in the sensation of her supple body pressed close against his.

His lips found hers in an achingly sweet caress, which quickly burst into roaring flame. Swept up by the sensations which he awoke in her, Nimoë clung to him, almost afraid of the blissful fire that smoldered within her. Warm rays of sunlight bathed them in radiance as they melted into each other.

With their arms entwined, oblivious to anything other than the fevered ardor of their love, they lay. Nimoë's radiant moon-pale hair mingled with Legolas' golden locks, and it would have been nearly impossible to tell where one person began and the other ended.

Raising up on his elbows to draw in a gasping breath, Legolas smiled down at his beloved, her face flushed with exhilaration. He ran his hand gently over her shoulder, impatient to smooth away the gown which stood sentinel between himself and her luminous skin, but she brought her hand up to still his. "Legolas," she breathed, desire making her voice quake, "Are you certain that this is what you want?"

In a husky voice he answered, "More certain than I have ever been in all my life. Please, Nimoë…"

For answer, she pulled him back down upon her, hands reaching for the clasp of his tunic. Just as he was about to pull the light garment, which was suddenly far too warm, over his head, a noise brought them up short. It was a trumpet, clear and strong, echoing off of the hills, announcing a new arrival to Minas Tirith.

Even as they lay there, staring at each other in wonderment, a symphony of other horns began to peal out their songs. "What…" began Legolas, sitting up and releasing Nimoë.

The Elf maid had rolled onto her elbows and she peered down to the valley floor. A host of horses and their riders was marching on the city, and their banners crackled in the breeze. One sight above all others caught Nimoë's eye and she leapt to her feet, crying out in joy, "Galadriel!"

Heedless of anything other than making her way to her beloved teacher, Nimoë ran headlong down the steep side of the hill, gathering the folds of her pale yellow gown into her hands to keep from tripping. Legolas sighed at the interrupted interlude, but ran quickly after her, re-sealing the clasp of his tunic as he went.

Nimoë's feet flew, but they went faster than she could control them, and she slipped, rolling several feet down the hill. Once she landed, she simply brushed herself off and made ready to continue her perilously rapid descent.

"Nimoë!" Legolas cried, and his voice commanding, "Slow down or wait for me!"

Impatiently, she pulled up short, and as soon as he was near she grabbed his hand, fair yanking him down the hill after her. Although she still traveled at breakneck speed, Legolas felt better, knowing that he was there to catch her if she fell. Together they reached the Pelennor Fields, and raced to intercept the line of riders.

As they drew near, Legolas saw that not only was Galadriel present, along with Celeborn, but with them rode Elrond and his daughter Arwen, as well as the brethren Elladan and Elrohir as well as many other men of noble bearing.

Heedless of decorum, Nimoë ran straight through the line of horses until she reached Galadriel's knee, where she burst into frantic speech, "My Lady, I failed in the task which you set me, and I dared not return to you. The way was blocked by orcs, and I chose to aid what was left of the fellowship in the best way I could see. Please tell me that I chose the correct path? Please tell me that I did right!"

The Lady of Lothlorien reined her white horse to a halt, and she looked down on her apprentice with a bemused smile. Always this girl had been impetuous, and clearly her adventures had not changed that. "I have followed your progress in my mirror, child, and I knew of your failure. But you have proven yourself to be of far greater worth than even I expected. If not for you, Rohan would not have a King. Many men owe their lives to you, and I would not have had you chose otherwise."

Nimoë had not realized how much worry had lain upon her, at the thought that she would disappointed her mentor, and when the words of approbation fell upon her ears, she felt her knees buckle in relief. Legolas' arm was about her instantly, and a soft smile flitted over Galadriel's face. "Take care of her, Legolas, son of Thranduil. She is as dear as a daughter to me."

"I will, Lady Galadriel."

The Lady of Lothlorien looked ahead of her towards Minas Tirith. "We must not delay here longer, but ride into the city. Nimoë, when the festivities are completed, I wish you to attend me. I have something of great import to discuss with you."

Nimoë bowed her head and backed away from Galadriel's horse, Legolas by her side. Together they watched as the caravan of the high and mighty rode into Minas Tirith, to the call of silver trumpets. But Nimoë's heart was troubled, for she had heard worry hidden deep in Galadriel's sonorous voice. Something was wrong, and it involved her.

A shiver ran its way up her spine, and she turned to seek comfort in Legolas' embrace. Tomorrow she would learn what evil thing could cause her mistress to worry. Tomorrow was a day that Nimoë desperately wished to avoid, for she feared that whatever revelations were to come, they could not help but destroy the idyllic life that she had enjoyed for the last month.

Legolas and Nimoë walked slowly back to the city, as Legolas could sense her reluctance. He squeezed her hand reassuringly, "All will be well, Nimoë. Trust me."


	48. Revelations

Nimoë spent a sleepless night, pacing back and forth along the battlements of the Houses of Healing. She lived there still for, although her wound had healed, she was often called on to help tend the sick who came for healing. This was not a burden to her, for she felt it was her duty to offer aid wherever she could.

Her keen sight pierced the darkness of the moonless night, and she gazed out at the jagged profile of Mountains of Shadow. Mordor. What a foul place. How long would it take before living things could begin to grow there, and not be tainted by the poisoned earth, the acid air? A shudder passed through her and she moved on, back and forth and back again.

When finally the eastern sky began to fill with pale lavender hues, which gave way to fiery crimson and molten gold, she turned and walked down the stairs to the gardens. Soon the city would be rousing. She could seek out Galadriel, and finally her dread would be given a name.

In her small room, she dressed herself in a simple white gown, laced about her waist with a twined green cord, the ends of which hung down past her knees. Her cloak she left behind her for, although the dawn air was chill, she wanted to feel it seeping into her bones. The bite of the cold helped to remind her that she was alive.

On quiet feet she left her temporary home and started up the steep path towards the top of the city. People were beginning to stir, some throwing open their shutters to let in the first light of morning, shopkeepers braving the cold morning to prepare their stores for the day, which would undoubtedly prove to be a lucrative one. Celebrations inevitably made people feel like spending their money.

A young girl, with riotous, brown curly hair, dashed past her, on some urgent errand, but took time to flash Nimoë a brilliant grin on her way by. "Good morning, Elf Lady!" the child called back over her shoulder.

In answer, Nimoë lifted her hand in a half-hearted wave. Worry was too heavy upon her to muster a more energetic reply. Thankfully, the girl had already sped away, and was not aware of her response.

At long last, somewhat winded by her climb, Nimoë reached the tower at the top of the city. It was Aragorn's palace now, and the guests of the kingdom were housed within. The guard at the door recognized her immediately and did not challenge her passage. He pulled back the heavy oak, and wished her a good day.

Once inside, the Elf maid climbed the twisting stair until she reached a large oaken desk, set just inside a door off the stairway. A secretary sat there, shuffling through a thick stack of parchment, and he did not notice her until she cleared her throat. He jumped, startled, then nodded to her. "What can I do for you so early in the day, My Lady?"

"Can you tell me where I can find Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien? I have urgent business with her."

"Of course!" The secretary leafed through a second stack of parchment, and found what he was looking for four sheets down. "Ah! She is housed three flights up at the end of the hall. I remember now. That suite of rooms has the largest windows, and tall trees grow just outside of them. King Elessar felt that the Lady would be most comfortable there of all the places inside this edifice."

Nimoë nodded. "Thank you," she said, then stepped back into the stairway, rapidly ascending the three flights. Through the long, dark hallway she trod, on slowing feet. Now that she was near to her goal, she was strangely reluctant to complete the journey. Finally, she stood just outside the heavy door, breathing deeply, trying to work up the courage to knock.

"Nimoë, I have been expecting you. Come inside," came Galadriel's voice, echoing through the cavern of her mind. Not a sound had been uttered, for the Elf Queen spoke directly into Nimoë's consciousness.

Of course she would know that I am here, without my knocking, thought Nimoë, and so the Elf maid pushed open the door. Galadriel was sitting in the windowsill, looking out through the tall trees towards the rising of the sun. Gentle breezes fluttered her long golden hair about her, and her snow white gown seemed to dance upon the wind.

"Sit," she spoke, without turning her head to see that Nimoë had obeyed her command to enter. An upholstered white stool was nearby, and Nimoë sank down onto it, glad for its presence, for she was afraid that her legs would not hold her up, as they were quaking in fear.

She drew a shaky breath and asked, "Please, My Lady. I know that something is amiss, and it frightens me not knowing. Won't you tell me what you must and be done with it?"

At long last, Galadriel turned her face away from the glory of the dawn's splendor, and rested her clear blue gaze upon Nimoë. This girl had been like a daughter to her. How could she bear to hurt her as she knew she must? How could she pronounce her doom?

Alighting from the windowsill, Galadriel glided across the stone floor, and stopped in front of Nimoë, where she took her hands in her own. "Tell me, Nimoë, what death was like."

Shrugging her shoulders, the Elf maid replied, "It was cold. Piercing, aching cold. Like nothing I had ever experienced before, nor have I any wish to feel it again. My body was pain, and pain was my body. It was agony."

"Nimoë, if you felt pain, how could you have been dead?"

"I…" Nimoë paused, thinking. "I had not thought of that. Are you telling me that I was not dead? But everyone assures me that I was. I was not breathing, nor was there a pulse to be found on me."

Galadriel shook her head. "You were not dead. You say you were cold. Did no one tell you of the unnatural chillness of your body? Even in death, the chill does not set in so quickly, nor so strong. Nay, it was the spell which you used. It is a very powerful one, and I am surprised that you were able to make it work. Never did I teach you that. When you took King Eomer's wound from him, you also set a defensive response in yourself. To keep yourself from dying before there was a chance for your body to begin to save itself, you went into a state which I can only describe as hibernation. Your breath and pulse were so slow and shallow, frozen by that icy chill, that it seemed to all that you were dead. But you were not. Only awaiting the time that you could begin to heal naturally. When that time came, you began to come back into awareness, and the functions of life returned full force."

Relief washed over Nimoë. So that explained it! Although she hoped never to face death again, the threat of it had loomed large over her, for she had no wish to live that agony of pain for all eternity. It seemed that with the threat of eternal suffering lifted, Nimoë's heart grew lighter.

Galadriel's face grew somber. "Nimoë, that is not the end of my tale."

The relief which had spread through the Elf maid flew away on swift wings. Here now, would come the revelation which she dreaded.

The Elf Queen released one of Nimoë's hands, and began to stroke her long fingers through the maid's silky, straight hair. "Nimoë, the magic which you used to save Eomer is ancient and powerful. There are consequences to its use. When you give of your own life to save another, you take more of them into you than simply their wound. Among Elves, any who has performed this magic carries a part of the one that they saved for all time. Not so ill a thing, it would seem, but it was not an Elf whom you healed. It was a man. A mortal." Taking a breath to steady herself before delivering the crushing blow, Galadriel continued. "When you gave Eomer your life, you did so in truth. Your immortality has flown from you, Nimoë. You are mortal, doomed to die."

Disbelief registered on Nimoë's fair face, and she shook her head in denial. "No! It cannot be so. Still can I use the Elven magic. Still have I the keen sight and hearing of my people. I cannot be mortal!"

"I am afraid that it is so. Your constitution is still that of an Elf, so all of these things are yours by right, but you are no longer immune to disease and, though it will be slow, you will age, and you will die." The Queen's voice fell to a whisper, "I am sorry, Nimoë, dear as daughter."

Thinking back on her long bout of fever, coupled with the infection of her wound, the truth finally seeped into Nimoë's brain. Her fair face crumpled and she bowed her head into her hands, tears streaming down her face. Galadriel knelt in front of her, and gathered her to her breast. "Oh, child, I wish that I did not have to tell you this thing! I wish that I could make it untrue. But what is done is done. Rohan's King lives and one Elf, strong in the ways of power, will pass from the earth."

Nimoë pulled her tear-stained face out of her hands and looked pleadingly up at her friend and mentor. "I would not care for my part. I grudge Eomer not the gift, but what of Legolas? How can I do that to him? How can I ask him to remain with me and watch me wither into old age, to stand by me in sickness, knowing that his love will be for naught? Oh! It is not to be borne!"

She leapt then to her feet and fled from the room, and her sobs echoed back down the corridor, reaching Galadriel's sensitive ears. The Elf Queen shook her head sadly. Nimoë was right. She had lost not only her hope of eternal life, but her hope for eternal love as well. Heaviness descended even deeper over Galadriel's heart and she stood, leaving the antechamber where she knelt, and went to find Celeborn. She found she needed the comfort of her husband's arms.


	49. To Face the Future Together

Legolas paced through the Houses of Healing. He had arrived early to meet Nimoë, for he had offered to go with her to meet with Galadriel. On finding her missing, he had begun to ask after her. Not a single person there had seen Nimoë that day, although one soul had seen her standing alone on the battlements throughout the long night. It was not like her to disappear for hours on end, especially without telling any where she might be found. Worry ate into his gut, and it made him abrupt. Soon those around him had ceased trying to engage him in conversation, for the set of his shoulders and the aura of simmering frustration made it clear that he wished to be alone with his thoughts.

A few hours before the sun would set, he found that he could sit idle no longer, and he set off to find Nimoë. All throughout the city he ranged, searching every public house, every hidden cranny. There was no sign of her, and still none could tell him that they had seen her. At long last he reached the tower at the pinnacle of the White City, and entered.

The secretary who sat behind the large oaken desk was just putting away his parchments for the evening. He looked up and greeted Legolas. "What can I do for you, Sir Elf?"

"Have you seen Nimoë here this day?"

A worried frown creased the brow of the secretary before he replied. "She was here early this morning, just as the sun was rising. Do you mean to tell me that she has not been seen since?"

Legolas planted his hands on the table and leaned over it urgently. "Why was she here? Who did she see?"

The secretary raised his hands in confusion. "I know not what was her business, but she spoke with the Lady Galadriel. Something must have upset her, for she ran past me not long after, and the poor lady was sobbing as if her heart were breaking. I tried to stop her, to ask her what was amiss, but she was gone before I had a chance. I was hoping that she would have gone to find you, for well do I know that the two of you are two halves of the same whole."

"Blast! I told her that I would accompany her to see the Lady. Why did she not wait for me?!" he asked, more of himself than the unfortunate secretary, who flinched away from the Elf's anger. "Is the Lady of the Golden Wood within?"

"Nay. She went out with the King, and many other of the Fair Folk that are here, to view the fields of battle. I do not know when they will return."

Legolas turned to leave, a new idea dawning as to where he might find Nimoë. Before he left, he instructed the secretary to alert the Houses of Healing if she were found. Then he left the palace and walked, as fast as his feet would carry him, down the steep streets of the city and out of the gates.

#

The sun was setting in glorious hues of violet and scarlet, but Nimoë did not see them. She sat in the very spot, high in the foothills of the Ered Nimrais, where just the previous day she had lain in joyous innocence with Legolas. Tears flowed freely from her eyes, blurring her vision, but there were no sobs to accompany them. Too much of her strength had already been given over to sorrow for there to be any energy left for hysteria.

Unseeing, she sat, staring out at the Mountains of Shadow, oblivious to all that surrounded her. Birds twittered in the trees, and one even alighted on her shoulder, so long had she sat unmoving. The splendor of the sunset should have been enough to lift the spirits of any Elf, but Nimoë remained untouched, lost in the agony of Galadriel's revelation.

Thus she appeared when Legolas crested the hill and set his eyes upon her. By all the Valar, what could have happened? He approached her on silent feet, but even had he come yelling and screaming, she would not have heard him. The violet light of the sunset reflected off of her tears, giving them an even more poignant appearance, and as he dropped to his heels beside her, he reached out to stroke them away.

"Nimoë, beloved, what has happened? Why did you not come to me?" he asked, although he found that he was afraid of her answer.

Her gaze did not stray from the far-off point where they were fixed, but she spoke, "I could not come to you, Legolas. This is something that I must face first myself."

"But what is it? Surely I can lend you my strength to help you face it?"

At long last, she turned to face him, and the anguish in her eyes sent daggers through his soul. "Please," she begged in a tight, strained voice, "Please let me be."

Much as he hated to deny her anything, this was too much. "I cannot. I cannot leave you alone like this."

His steadfast loyalty moved her, and she spoke, "If you will not leave me, then hold me close, but do not ask me to speak, for that I will not do."

This one thing he could do for her, and he settled himself by her side, facing with his back towards Mordor, and he enfolded her tenderly in his firm embrace. Neither one of them spoke, but as her tears soaked relentlessly through his tunic, Legolas felt that each one that fell was another part of him being torn away, for as close as their bodies were nestled, he knew that she drew farther away with each passing moment, farther into herself.

As the sunset passed on into night they sat unmoving, leaning their weight against each other, until finally Legolas felt the resistance of her body give way and she collapsed fully against him. Once he was sure that she slept, he laid her back against the flowering grass. The starlight bathed her skin, giving it a translucent glow, and it shone off of the tears which still clung to her skin.

Even in sleep her brow bore furrows of great worry, and Legolas reached out his hand to stroke them away, wishing that she would confide her troubles to him. Nothing could be so terrible that they could not face it together. Had they not already faced death? There could nothing that would compare to that.

After long moments, the lines creasing her fair skin began to relax, and Legolas laid himself down beside her. He gently tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder, and stared up at the sky, unable to sleep.

Starlight twinkled in velvet darkness, clear and pure, and Legolas watched mesmerized. Under his breath, he whispered, "Ai! Elbereth! Creator of the stars, Bringer of light in the dark times, help me to see what is hidden. Let your light pierce through the veil of fog which Nimoë has brought down between us. I ache inside, and I know not what to do."

For many long moments he lay, still staring up into the hypnotic starlight, when a small voice reached his ears, "Legolas, I am mortal."

Legolas held himself perfectly still, resisting the urge to leap to his feet, to make any sudden moves, although the crushing power of her words stilled his breath in his lungs. Now was not the time to indulge in selfish fears. He had to be strong for her sake. "Mortal. You are certain?"

"Beyond a doubt. Legolas, what will we do?" her voice was plaintive, lost.

An overwhelming wave of protectiveness broke over the Elf prince. He wanted to hide her from the world, to shield her from any thing that might harm her. Was this what it was like to live as a man? Always in fear? The frailty for which he had always pitied the race of men had suddenly become his own, and he fought down the urge to shudder.

"Do not worry, Nimoë. We will find a way." He paused for a moment, thinking, then with a note of hope in his voice, he said, "If you passed into the Undying Lands, surely you would be spared."

Nimoë turned her head toward his, "Do you really think so? Would not Galadriel have told me if that were true? Perhaps once immortality has once been lost it cannot be restored?"

Legolas rolled over onto his arm, looking down into her haunted face. "I do not know. But rest easy with this knowledge: until such time as your immortality is returned to you, I will keep you safe." Reaching out, he smoothed her hair. "Rest now. I know that you did not sleep last night. Tomorrow will be soon enough to learn what can be done."

Once she was soundly sleeping again, Legolas finally allowed himself to truly experience the reality of her mortality. His body shook with fear, a reaction which even the fiercest battle had never prompted in him. His own life meant little when compared with hers. There had to be a way! If she could indeed pass into the Undying Lands, he would see that she was brought there as rapidly as could be managed. There was too much risk in remaining in Middle-Earth.

A gull screeched in the distance, and he shivered. More urgently now in his breast beat the longing for the sea, for only across the Western Sea could he find any hope for his beloved. The words of the old song swam through his mind, "To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying. The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying. West, west away!" With uneasy mind, Legolas could not sleep, but he lay still, unwilling to disturb Nimoë, and began to lay his plans. West, west away.

#

**Author's Note: The poetry in the last paragraph is from Return of the King, page 234.**


	50. Philosphies of Living

When the sun rose, golden in the crisp air, the two Elves walked hand in hand back into Minas Tirith. Stopping only once, to tell the healers that Nimoë had been found, they went straight through the bustle of morning to the tower atop the White City. Their feet carried them forward rapidly, for hope seemed nigh, and they were eager to speak with Galadriel.

When they reached the familiar oaken table of the overworked secretary, who looked very relieved to see them both, he hailed them, saying, "The Lady Galadriel is waiting for you in the tower gardens. How she knew you were coming, though, is a mystery to me."

"Thank you," spoke Nimoë. "We will go to her directly."

Through the long corridors of the tower they went, tallow candles lighting their path, until they reached the gates of the garden. There they paused for only a moment, and Legolas held her faced towards him, offering his support. "Whatever is said here today, know that I will never abandon you. I will remain by your side, immortal or no."

Had she been alone, Nimoë would have paused to rally her courage before entering, but she was not alone, and therefore she was not afraid. She pushed open the wrought iron gate, which was shot through with mithril, clearly forged in the earliest years of the city.

Greenery grew lush within the garden, and the air was thick with the smell of blossoming wildflowers and delicate roses. Galadriel sat waiting for them by the side of a small fountain, carved out of stone to resemble Nimloth, the White Tree of Númenor. Crystal waters cascaded down from the stone leaves, sending ever-widening ripples about the still surface of the pool in which it stood.

"I know why you are here," spoke Galadriel. "You wish to know if Nimoë's immortality will be restored if she sails across the Sundering Sea to Valinor." She turned her intense blue gaze upon them then. "Did you think that I would not speak of such a thing if it were true?" A terrible hurt was in her voice, that they would think so little of her. "It may well be that Nimoë would still be allowed to reach that sacred shore, but there is no truth to the rumor that setting foot on that isle brings about immortality.

"The men of Númenor learned that, to their great cost, when they sought to set foot upon the hallowed isle, in search of eternal life. For that event is what brought about the sundering of the world. Númenor was sunk into the sea, men scattered to the four winds. Valinor was taken from the face of the newly bent world, and only Elves now may follow the straight road to find it. It may be that others will come there as well, if granted leave by the Valar, but residing on that ground does not bring life eternal. If that were so, does it not stand to reason that there would be a long history, certainly of Half-Elves, who would renounce their immortality for a time, and then, when it was no longer convenient for them, travel over the sea to eternal life? This is not the way of things, children!"

"But…" Legolas spoke.

Galadriel stopped his words before they could come forth, and anger was clear in her stern visage. "Let me speak!"

The power of the Elf Queen's voice silenced him, and he felt like a chastised child. Rebellion stirred within him, but he quelled it. This woman deserved his respect and his reverence. This was not the time to antagonize the one who might be his only hope of finding help for Nimoë.

"Half-Elves can choose to give up their immortality and take up the mortal life, for such is their heritage," Galadriel continued, then addressed Nimoë directly, "Child, what you have done is something which has never before been accomplished in Middle-Earth. While I know that you are mortal, I do not fully understand its consequences. It requires more time and study."

This time Legolas would not be restrained, "But time is what we do not have!"

Galadriel gave him an understanding, but pitying look. "I understand your worry, Legolas, son of Thranduil. I assure you, however, that Nimoë is a strong, healthy woman, unlikely to succumb to disease, and that even if she is mortal, she has many decades before such time as her death might be expected of old age. Ever since the dawn of time, men have lived with the uncertainty of life. It may be a useful experience for you to have to understand their fervent passion for living, for when death is an ever present specter, it makes each day so much more precious. Live each one to its fullest, and it will not be wasted."

Although Legolas nodded, for he had a deep, inborn respect for the ancient Elf Queen, he could not accept her words as they stood. Fragility was not something that he wanted to understand, not even if there was great gain to be found there.

"What should I do, My Queen?" asked Nimoë.

"Go out and live your life. Do not let fear keep you from those things which are important to you, for those things will increase in value tenfold as the time you have to enjoy them slips away." Galadriel then turned her stern eyes onto Legolas. "And you must not hinder her. Do not let your instinct to shelter and defend Nimoë keep her from her life. It is still hers to live, however it may run its course."

Nimoë bowed her head in acceptance. "If this is the way that my life is to be, then I will take your advice. I will not hide in corners, afraid of my own shadow. Many mortals have I encountered these past months, and they have shown bravery in the face of utter defeat, courage when ill unto their deaths. Some of these men I have had the privilege to call friend. I will strive to model my behavior upon theirs."

Galadriel rose then from the edge of the fountain. "Good. Nimoë, if you will give me a lock of your hair, I will use it to try to learn more of what exactly has happened to you."

Nimoë nodded willingly, and the Elf Queen pulled out a small dagger, its silver blade glistening in the sunlight, the handle encrusted with sapphires and emeralds. Approaching the Elf maid, she sliced off one long lock of moon-pale hair, and held gently in her hand, where it hung limp. After regarding it for a long moment, Galadriel tucked the hair into a small leather pouch that hung from her waist.

"Now go. I have heard that King Eomer wishes speech with you. He returned from Rohan not long after I arrived. It seems that he is even more tautly strung than usual. Something about "stubborn women" from what I have been told."

For the first time in two long days a true smile split Nimoë's face. "I will go to him. It seems that Halanna may have more steel to her than he expected. Come, Legolas, help me put out the fire?"

#

**Author's Note: Sorry about the history lesson in that chapter. I have been studying the Silmarillion and every online resource I could find to figure out how I am going to end this thing. I think I have finally figured out how I am going to do it, but I need to set up some explanation for it, so for those of you who have not read the Silmarillion, I needed to get some of that out there.**

**Next chapter will bring us back to more action… I know that this one was very slow, but it needed to be done. We're almost there! YAY!**


	51. Proposals

Legolas followed Nimoë out of the garden gate, overwhelmed by what he had learned. It seemed that there was no chance that she could regain her immortality, and yet there she was, walking ahead of him with her shoulders straight, and her head held high, as if defying fate and its whimsy. How could she be so brave? Certainly he was not, for even within the citadel, he found himself watching around every corner, ready to pounce on any danger.

Still, was that not exactly what Galadriel had instructed him not to do? It was all too much. Too much too fast. The gentle swish of her hair as she moved entranced him, and the aura of pureness and light which radiated from her moved like no other sight ever would again. He could not bear to be parted from her.

As they left the tower, and were once again out under the healing sunlight, Legolas reached out his hand and caught her shoulder, spinning her about to face him. There, in full sight of all who happened to be passing by, he dropped to his knee in front of her, and clasped her hands tightly within his own. "Nimoë," he spoke, "More than anything in this world, I wish to bring you happiness. If you let me, I will dedicate my life to that goal. I will build a home for you, wherever you might desire it. I will bring you any little thing your heart might desire. I would ask only one thing in return." His sky blue eyes gazed up into her liquid grey ones, and he felt as if he was drowning. "Nimoë, will you consent to marry me?"

At that moment, all the light of summer gathered itself into one place, the face of his beloved. Scarlet flame rushed to her cheeks, and he felt her hands trembling within his grasp. "Legolas, my heart, nothing in this world do I desire more. Gladly will I join you in marriage. It may be that the time will be brief, but I shall treasure it more than all the other years of my life combined." She pulled him to his feet then, and placed a rapturous kiss upon his firm lips.

After long moments, they suddenly became aware of their surroundings. A large circle of the men and women of Gondor had stopped what they were doing, and stood looking on. They had heard the words that were spoken, and when the Elves sealed their intentions with a kiss, the whole group burst into spontaneous, wild applause, mingled with hoots and whistles.

Nimoë dropped her face, blushing furiously, but Legolas would not let her hide, and together they passed through the circle of well-wishers, who parted to make way for them, and they went to find Eomer, eager to share their joyful news.

#

Upon learning that the King of Rohan was out on the Pelennor Fields, Legolas and Nimoë left the Gates of the City. Before they went further, though, Nimoë halted her motion and turned to face her betrothed, "Legolas, I do not wish to tell Eomer of my mortality. It would grieve him greatly, and I fear that he would blame himself."

Legolas nodded, for he thought her right. "As you wish."

Pounding hoofbeats reached their ears and they spied the man they spoke of bearing down upon them. He reined to a halt, then leapt down, running to embrace his friends. It had been a full month since he had seen them last, for he had needed to return to Rohan, to begin setting to right the wrongs which had been wrought there, and then he had waited for the caravan of dignitaries from the north.

"Nimoë! Legolas! It gladdens my heart to see you again." He looked at them pointedly. "You look as though you have not been sleeping, and yet I see also great joy in your eyes. What is this mystery?"

Not wanting to have to lie, Nimoë ignored the first accusation, and answered the latter. "We are to be married, Eomer."

A huge grin spread across the giant horse-lord's face. "About time, I say! Why you Elves always take so blasted long to do things makes no sense to me. Get it done and get on with living! Come, Nimoë! Let me kiss the bride." Before she could even think to make a protest, though it is doubtful that she would have, he pulled her into his arms and planted a firm kiss square on her mouth. Her face he held cupped in his large hands, and he did not end the kiss for long moments.

When he pulled away, Nimoë stood there breathless. "Well! That was quite a kiss."

Eomer shrugged, "Seems like I'll never find a better excuse to kiss an Elf. Best to take advantage of any opportunities that present themselves."

Legolas was tapping his foot agitatedly on the ground. "Are you done flirting with my bride now, Mortal?"

Eomer released Nimoë and clasped his arm about Legolas' shoulders. "Back to _Mortal_ now, are we? Relax, Legolas. I have no designs on Nimoë, not as if she would have me if I did. Rather would I offer you my heartfelt congratulations, and beg for your aid, for I fear that never will I convince the lady of my heart to join with me in wedded bliss."

Eomer signaled to one of his men, who was combing the field nearby. "Bring them! I have found their rightful masters!"

Legolas and Nimoë looked at each other, bemused. What did Eomer speak of? Turning back to his friends, the King of Rohan spoke. "I have gifts for you. Call them wedding presents if you like. Legolas, I give you Arod, the brave steed who has carried you far, for he will now accept no other rider. And Nimoë, I have brought Finduél for you. Spirited he may be, but with time you will find that you ride him with ease, and his spirit is only a match for your own." Before either Elf could draw breath to thank him, he turned away, beckoning them after him. "Come with me. We will walk and talk and enjoy the fairness of the day."

For a while they walked in silence, only the sounds of their footfalls in the grass reaching their ears. Finally, Nimoë asked, "Why will Halanna not consent to wed you?"

"Halanna," he breathed on a wistful sigh. "Halanna says that she will not marry me until such time as Rohan is set to rights. It is true that although the war is over, people are returning to find their homes burnt, torn down by vicious orcs. There is still much suffering in my country, but Halanna rides with me everywhere I go, offering solace to those who are hurting, comfort to those in need. It is almost as if she is trying to make the people familiar with her face, and nature. I do not understand why she feels that she must do that before she marries me. When she is their Queen, there will be no way for them to reject her. It will be done."

Nimoë thought only for a moment before she responded. "Eomer, you well know that Halanna is proud. She will not be happy if people only suffer her as Queen because they have no choice. She wishes to prove, not only to them, but to herself as well, that she is worthy of such an honor. I think that you push her too hard. When she sees and understands that the people love her for her actions, for her soul, then she will marry you with no hesitation. You must be patient."

Eomer wrung his hands together in frustration, "Well do you know that patience is not my strong suit."

Legolas laid his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Yet you know that what Nimoë says is true. Halanna has remained behind in Rohan and will stay there until you return. That time must be at least a month. I think that perhaps when you return to your hall in Edoras you may be surprise at what awaits you. Trust in love, Eomer. It will never fail you."

The horse-lord shook his head doubtfully. "If you say so. If you say so." He raised his glance back the way they had come. "Look, here come the horses!"

Together the three returned to where Eomer had left his horse, and there they were reunited with their old mounts. Nimoë surprised both Eomer and Legolas by managing to mount Finduél with no assistance. "I have been practicing," she explained. "I had to have something to do to fill the long hours of waiting."

With a bright smile, she turned Finduél and cantered off away from the White City, towards the Anduin. Startled, it took both men a moment to mount up and chase after her and, hard as they tried, they could not overtake her, although Legolas could make out the sound of joyful laughter drifting back to him on the wind.


	52. A Wedding

**Author's Note: Due to dark thematic material, this chapter might be deserving of an R rating. I am not sure, so I have left it as it is. If you are uncomfortable with dark themes, you should skip to the next chapter.**

#

A long month later, Nimoë was astride Finduél's back, riding lightly, while Legolas followed behind on Arod. It had been a difficult month. There would be days when Nimoë's heart seemed as light as a bird's, as if seeing the clear light of day and breathing of the fresh air were all that she would ever need. But beneath her joyful façade, Legolas knew that she was only trying to ease his mind. For each of those days of happiness, there were days when she seemed lost, absorbed in thoughts of her own mortality. On those days Legolas did not press her to speak her mind, but stayed nearby, ready to lend an ear if she wanted one. More often than not, she kept her thoughts to herself.

He watched her that day, as they rode into Edoras, and he saw that she was holding her head high, so that any who looked on her would think that she had not a care in the world. Any but the one who knew her better than any other. To him it was obvious from the set of her shoulders that she was putting up a front. Inside she was dying a slow death.

Legolas ached to be able to wash her cares away, but knew that there was nothing he could do more than make certain she knew he was always there for her. Often he reminded her of their eventual marriage. They had decided that they would not wed until they could return to Mirkwood, so that both of their parents could be present for the ceremony. It would mean waiting for several months, but it was important to them, so they would do so without complaint.

Glancing back over his shoulder, Legolas observed the slow progress of the casket of Theoden. They had been forced to travel slowly, for it was impossible to make haste with the body of the dead King. So with great pomp and reverence the group had set out from Minas Tirith. Included in their number were Eomer, the four Hobbits, Gimli, Legolas and Nimoë, Celeborn and Galadriel, as well as King Elessar and his wife Arwen Evenstar, and her father and brothers. Gandalf rode with them as well, and it was truly a grand company. Upon reaching Edoras, Theoden would be entombed nigh unto his fathers of old, and then would Rohan truly put behind it the days of Sauron.

Nimoë had sworn both Legolas and Galadriel to secrecy regarding her mortality, and, although Celeborn already knew the truth, word had not spread among the others. For that reason, as well as not wanting to trouble Legolas any more than was needful, Nimoë tried to keep her demeanor cheerful. Often she found Eomer looking over at her, as if he suspected something was amiss, but she smiled at him winningly and he seemed to accept her front.

#

When they reached Edoras, Eowyn was waiting to greet them on the green grass before the gate, and Halanna stood behind her. The White Lady of Rohan raised her hand in greeting and called out, "Be welcome to Edoras, my brother and my King. All has been prepared for your coming and in three days time we will inter the remains of Theoden-King properly, with great honor. Until that time, I bid you enter the Gates of your City, and celebrate, for I bring you good tidings!"

Eomer answered her, "Of what do you speak, sister?"

Eowyn beckoned Halanna forward, and the smaller woman stepped out even with the King's sister. Her face was down-turned, but a flush could be seen on her cheeks. Eowyn responded, "Ere you rode to Minas Tirith, you asked for the hand of this woman in marriage, but she would not have you. If you still wish her, she is ready now to accept your proposal. Is this your wish?"

Eomer did not bother with words then, but leapt down from his horse, and ran to Halanna, who he picked up in both arms and swung her round and round, overwhelmed with joy. Her laughter filled the air and, when finally Eomer was too dizzy to stand straight, he set her feet back on the ground. "Is this my wish?! Need you to ask? I will wed you, Halanna, as soon it can be arranged. Then our life together can truly begin."

#

Three days later the funeral of Theoden was carried out and, while all mourned the passing of a great king, they rejoiced that he had passed from the world in the glory of battle. That his horse had been his bane, for it had fallen upon him, trapping him in harm's way, was of little import, for even riding to war was a great honor for a man of such age.

Songs were sung, and tales told upon the greensward. Then, when the sun began its inexorable march towards the horizon, the massed company went into the Hall of Meduseld and there, in a ceremony both beautiful and simple, Eomer, King of Rohan was wed to Halanna, a woman who had proved herself worthy to be Queen by virtue of her actions.

With Eomer stood Aragorn and Legolas, and with Halanna were Eowyn and Nimoë. The bride was radiant in a flowing white gown, decked with diamonds, although Eomer swore that no jewels could be as lovely as the light in her eyes. He himself wore a tunic of gold, which set off the fire in his golden hair, and he could not keep his gaze from straying to his bride, although he should have been paying attention to the man who was officiating in the ceremony.

Once the vows had been sworn, a party began in good earnest. Halanna's brother, Henodred, had recovered well enough to be present, and he gladdened her heart by dancing with her, although his leg was still stiff from his injury. Nimoë smiled to see him up and about. She danced with many of the men present: Eomer, Aragorn, Legolas, and even Gimli, although the dwarf muttered to himself about Elves and their carefree ways throughout the whole long dance. It took great control for her not to break her silence, to shout out that there was nothing carefree about her, nor would there ever be again, but she held her peace, and her closely guarded secret.

Finally the wedded couple was able to escape from the festivities and, hand in hand, Eomer and Halanna made their way up the stairs to the room which they would share. Just outside the door, Eomer bent down and laid a tender kiss on her upturned lips. "Here we begin our lives as one, Halanna. Be always honest and forthright with me, and I will honor you with my respect and my love. Life will never be dull, will it? You will keep me from forging ahead heedless of all else, and I will keep you from hiding behind your insecurities."

Halanna smiled up at him. "You are right. This will be an ever-changing adventure. I for one am ready to begin it."

So they entered into the chamber and what passed there will not be related in this tale. Suffice it to say that the newlyweds passed a night which would be burned into their memories for all of their lives.

#

The music played on in the Great Hall, and whirling, swaying bodies filled the room. Too much ale had been drunk, and it seemed that the party would go on all through the night. Nimoë was restless, and when she found herself alone, she took the opportunity to slip out of the building. The moon was low in the sky, and it was uncharacteristically large. Instead of its usual white glow, it shone with a warm orange hue. The rare sight managed to lift her spirits just a little, and a slow smile curved her lips.

As she walked, she pondered what had become of her life. She felt like a shadow, a shade, one already dead. Despite her intentions to live life to its fullest, she found that the knowledge that she would die weighed into her every thought. Not a waking moment went by that she was not aware of her doom.

How could she live like this? One night before leaving Minas Tirith, she had strayed alone on the battlement, a place she had begun to haunt with growing frequency. That night seemed to her now like a dream, hazy in its detail, but strikingly powerful in its emotional impact. All through the long day she had grown increasingly morose, and it felt as if a heavy weight were settled upon her chest, making it impossible for her to draw breath. Trying to escape from the unbearable hopelessness, she had chosen to walk under the stars.

That night it had been the wrong choice. Elves have always had a primal bond with starlight, for when they were brought forth onto the face to the world, there had been no sunlight, only the multitudinous stars which had been hung by Elbereth. Allowing the crystal light to shine onto her and through her, Nimoë edged closer to the stone wall that ran about the edge of the precipice. On that night, the starlight did not reassure her. Instead it only accentuated how much she had changed. Never would she be able to live with Elbereth and the other Valar in Valinor.

Emptiness consumed her and she ached to block out the crushing despair. Slowly she raised her foot onto the high wall, and pulled herself atop it. Looking down, there was such a drop that the ground was in complete darkness. A fall from such a height would kill even a fully immortal Elf. The alluring call of oblivion sang in her mind, beckoning her to lean forward, to take that one step which would stop her torment.

The siren song was irresistible to her and she began to lean out, waiting for gravity to catch hold of her and plunge her down into the final silence of death. Only a few inches more and then the weight of the world be less than a memory… Just as she was about to pitch forward, a voice called out from below, "Nimoë?"

The sound of Legolas' voice had pulled her back from the edge, and she stepped back convulsively. What had she done? Scrambling down, her feet landed back on the safe side of the stone wall, where she clung to its solid bulk, for she was quaking so hard that she could not stand elsewhise. When Legolas found her, he knew immediately that something had happened, but she could not bring herself to speak of it. Within his protective embrace she clung to the hope that his presence offered her. She swore never to let her melancholy bring her to the point where her mind had lost its reason again, and so far she had managed. Although she was by no means happy, she had pulled her control over her, and had never again reached the point of contemplating suicide.

She wondered if he knew how close she had come to ending it all. A shiver ran through her, and she glanced up at the high tower of Meduseld. Thoughts of her good friends beginning their lives together brought her some small comfort. Her sacrifice had brought great good into the world.

She breathed out a sigh. How easy it had been to sacrifice in the heat of battle. How easy to offer her life. Yet that same sacrifice had a bitter taste when death was not immediate, when you knew that it would come for you, but could not prepare for it. Never knowing was the worst part. Nimoë felt her hands begin to tingle and recognized the first signs of a bout of breath-stealing depression.

Shaking her head to dispel the melancholy which was threatening to drown her, Nimoë turned back towards Meduseld. Before entering, she pasted a bright smile onto her lips. Within the Hall, Legolas spotted her and made his way through the dancing to her side. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he did not believe her smile, but she forced herself to keep it in place. With her hand held firmly in his, she rejoined the festivities, and tried her best to make her smile real.


	53. Grima's Revenge

Days and nights blended into each other, and Nimoë hardly noticed their passing.

They had left Edoras and ridden to Helm's Deep, more slowly than the last time she had made that trip. Legolas had gone with Gimli, as he had promised he would after the battle which was fought there, to the glittering caves. Nimoë had remained behind, unwilling to go underground for any reason, even for the love of a friend. Her imprisonment by Grima had forever broken from her spirit the ability to endure the crushing weight of earth over her head.

Once that was done, they had ridden onward to Isengard. Gandalf greeted Treebeard on their arrival and he asked after Saruman. To the horror of those gathered, Treebeard admitted that he had released the wizard. "So weak he was. It seemed that he could wreak no further harm upon any. That sniveling worm of his went away with him, and I am not sorry that they are gone."

Gandalf sighed, telling Treebeard that Saruman never lacked for power, as long as he had his voice. The very fact of his absence was proof of this, for he must have worked his art upon the Ent in order to trick him into releasing him from his imprisonment.

On hearing that Grima was free again in the world, Nimoë glanced about her, making certain that he was nowhere about. For what she had done to him, there could be no doubt that he would seek retribution. Although he had not seen her, once his sanity was regained, he would recognize her essence in what she had wrought.

Legolas sidled Arod up next to Finduel and reached out to squeeze Nimoë's knee reassuringly. She lifted her eyes to his and he saw the dread in them. While he wished it otherwise, he thought that she was right to fear. That was the reason not to leave an enemy alive behind you. All of Grima's thought would likely be bent on seeking his revenge. The Elf Prince's hand strayed to the hilt of his Elven Dagger.

#

Before long it came time for a bittersweet parting. Aragorn and Arwen were turning back towards Gondor. Many tears were shed, and not only by the women in the party. Once hands had been shaken all around, and words of farewell spoken, the King and Queen of the West turned and rode back towards Helm's Deep.

Gimli turned to Legolas and asked, "Shall we now enter Fangorn together, as we promised?"

Legolas shook his head. "Loath am I to leave such a trip for a later time, but I feel the need to reach my home as quickly as can be done. I have a wedding to celebrate. Will you accompany us to Mirkwood? I would have you stand with me in the ceremony."

Gimli spoke gravely then, "You do me a great honor. It would give me great pleasure to stand your friend."

#

The next morning the company set out from Isengard, following the swift flowing river. They made good time, for all were eager now to reach their final destination. Galadriel and Celeborn would be the first to part company on their way to Lothlorien, and the rest would travel on to Rivendell, from there to go their separate ways.

The summer breeze was warm and fragrant and the clear waters of the Isen murmured joyously. Peaceful ease was upon the company as they rode. Then Legolas spoke, "There are two beggars ahead of us on the road. They are on foot and we will overtake them quickly."

His words were proven true, but as they neared, Gandalf spoke, "These are not beggars. It is Saruman and Grima Wormtongue. Be on your guard."

Nimoë shrank down inside of herself, trying to become invisible. Relentlessly they drew near, and Gandalf hailed them. "Saruman! We come upon you again. It seems that your luck has changed. It grieves me to see you so reduced. Where are you going?"

The fallen wizard was haggard now, bent with care, and dark circles ringed his eyes. "If you must know, I am seeking a way out of the Kingdom of Aragorn."

"You are flying to nowhere then, for great is the realm which he rules. But we will offer you our help if you will take it," spoke Gandalf.

"Ha! Folly! I will make my own way, as I always have. Leave an old beggar in peace."

Throughout the conversation, Grima had stood aloof, staring down at the ground. At last he looked up, and his eyes fell upon Nimoë. Recognition swept over him, as well as the memory of what the Elf-Witch had done to him. Rage began to simmer deep within him, and with the hand which was hidden from the view of the riders, he fingered his dagger.

Sharp was its point, but that alone would not be enough. Turning his back to the others, he reached into his ragged tunic, pulling out a small vial. He had brought it with him from Isengard, against the time when he could no longer stand the foul treatment he received from Saruman. It was poison. A quick acting poison that would kill within minutes. Cautiously he uncorked the smoky vial and dipped the end of the dagger into it.

Once that was done, he again hid the vial, and turned back around, his head properly bent to show his subservience to his master. "Move on, Worm!" spoke Saruman. Grima nodded and followed his master slowly down the road, awaiting his change to practice his aim.

#

Nimoë breathed a deep sigh of relief. The confrontation had ended and it seemed that Grima had not seen her. Legolas also relaxed, pleased that nothing had happened. When he first saw Grima, he had wanted to pull his bow and kill him, but after seeing his wretched state, he decided that the life Wormtongue was living was punishment enough. He had held his peace.

Nimoë turned away from the sight of the two retreating backs and spoke to Legolas, "Well, that is done. We can hope never to see them again. A great fear has been lifted from my… Aaugh!" Her speech was cut off by a wrenching scream of agony.

In horror, Legolas watched as she pitched forward off of Finduel. She landed on her side, and he spied the dagger sticking out of her back. "No!" He leapt off of Arod's back and ran to her, pulling the blade from her body.

"Legolas," she moaned, while her hands clenched spasmodically, and her body began to convulse painfully as the poison took effect. Staring into his face, she knew that she would not survive. Already she could not control her lungs, and aching pain radiated out from her chest. Grasping her last control, she caught his hands in her own. "I… love… you… Legola…" she gasped, then fell silent mid-word, as darkness closed in about her. The last thing she saw was the crystal blue of Legolas' eyes, streaming with tears.

#

"No… No!" he screamed, staring down at her lifeless form disbelievingly. Her eyes were open and staring up at him, almost as if in death she could still see him, but their glassy gaze left him no doubt that she had truly passed from the world.

He leapt to his feet, pulling his bow and nocking an arrow, which he tried to sight down, although tears blurred his vision. Before he could release the arrow at Grima, however, Gandalf laid a hand upon his arm, forcing the bow down. "Leave it, Legolas. I believe that Grima has yet another task to perform before he gets what he so richly deserves."

Legolas stared at the wizard aghast. With his free hand he motioned to Nimoë's lifeless body and said, "But look what he was done!" He struggled against the wizard's hand, trying to again raise the bow, but found to his surprise that Gandalf was much stronger than his appearance suggested.

"I said leave it alone. Do not disobey me, Legolas, son of Thranduil." The wizard's voice was strangely powerful, silencing his objections.

Unable to vent his rage on Grima, Legolas dropped again to his knees at Nimoë's side. Galadriel was there as well, her hands on the Elf maid's brow, singing softly. When she raised her eyes to Legolas, they were full of grief. "I am sorry. The poison was too strong. Had she been whole, I might have had time to save her, but in her weakened state there was no chance. She has passed from the world."

The cry which rose from his throat then was unlike anything that those about had heard before, nor would ever hear after. Inarticulate grief, coupled with an eternity's loss mingled into a scream of such utter anguish that Gimli actually covered his ears, trying to block out the sound.

Legolas collapsed over her, unable to hold himself up any longer. He clung to her dead body in primal agony, and his body shook with his sobs. Galadriel rose and, although there were tears in her eyes, she shooed the others away. "Give him space. It is not fitting for us to see his farewell."

So the rest of the company moved back down the road, glancing uncomfortably over their shoulders at the lifeless body of their friend, and the stricken form of her betrothed. Feeling like interlopers, they finally averted their eyes, but they could not close their ears to the sounds of hopeless sorrow which floated to them on the mockingly warm summer breeze.


	54. Loss and Memories

An hour later, Legolas rose, and though his face was wet with tears, he no longer shed them. Rather had a terrible blank mask been brought down over his features. His eyes saw nothing and, when he hailed his companions, his voice was as expressionless as if he were counting his toes. "We must transport her quickly. It is not fitting for her to be laid to rest in this place. We must bear her to Lothlorien, the place where she learned how to use the power which killed her in the end."

Gimli hefted his axe and felled a dying pine tree, for Galadriel would not allow him to kill one which was still living, and from it the good Dwarf fashioned a casket to fit the Elf maid's small body. In death she seemed even more fragile than she had in life, and Legolas placed her reverently inside the casket.

With all the speed that could be mustered, the company rode for the Golden Wood. At night as the company gathered around the campfire, Gimli sat himself down next to his friend and offered him a hearty slice of bread with butter. Legolas looked down at it as if he did not recognize it. For a long moment he observed it, then turned his head to the side, mutely rejecting the offering.

Pippin saw the exchange and thought that if the Elf was not ready to eat, surely he would drink some water. The young Hobbit picked a water sack off of the dusty ground, and carried it around the fire pit to his friend. Again Legolas merely looked at the sack with unseeing eyes, then he reached out his hand and gently pushed Pippin's extended arm away.

Rising to his feet, Legolas moved outside of the ring of light that shone from the campfire. Resting his back against a tree, he sat down next to Nimoë's casket. With gentle fingers he began to stroke the pine lid although, looking at his face, it could be wondered whether he was aware of his actions at all. The expression which resided there was utterly blank, like an empty piece of parchment.

As the rest of the company dropped off to sleep, the Elf Prince remained where he was, not sleeping, yet unable to rouse himself from the mind-numbing sorrow that beset him. Memories of her clear, bell-like laugh rang through his mind, and in front of his eyes he could see her smile. Although he knew the vision was not real, he stared at it in fascination, wondering if there would ever come a time when the grief would lessen, and with it the memory of love lost.

There he remained the whole night through, and when the company awoke in the morning, they found him so. Galadriel pulled Gandalf aside and said, "I fear for Legolas. He will not eat, drink, or sleep. I am afraid that he has lost the will to live."

Gazing over at the valiant Elf, Gandalf could not but agree. "We must do all that we can to pull him through his suffering. Perhaps in time he will once again turn his thoughts to the living."

Galadriel was unconvinced, but she nodded. Celeborn stood close to her, and she reached out her hand to him for reassurance, for her grief was also great. Lothlorien! How she longed to return there. Once within her realm, and able to consult her mirror, she would be able to truly study the lock of hair which Nimoë had given to her, as well as a new lock she had taken from her dead body, for it would hold more knowledge within it. Although the maid was well and truly dead now, Galadriel still wanted to understand exactly what had happened when Eomer had been saved.

The company again mounted up and took to the road. Finduél dragged Nimoë's casket behind him on a makeshift travois, and his head hung low, understanding that something was wrong, but waiting for his mistress to return to him, to comfort him in the dark of unknowing.

Gimli rode by Legolas' side, attempting to engage him in conversation. To all of his words of comfort, feeble jokes and plaintive pleading, Legolas' only responses were yes, no, and, more often than not, a blank stare, as if the Dwarf's voice were merely the buzzing of an insect. Finally, Gimli gave up on getting Legolas to respond, and he rode in a worried silence.

When, days later, the company finally reached Lothlorien, the Elf Prince appeared almost like a wraith. Not once during the journey had he partaken of food or drink, nor had he slept. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and his face was sunken. The skin, which had once been luminous, now was a dull, sallow grey, and the flesh of his body was wasting away.

To his friends it seemed that the only reason he had not lain down and surrendered his life to the Halls of Mandos was his desire to see Nimoë laid to rest before he departed. Galadriel dreaded that interment now, for she feared that it would be followed soon thereafter by another.

Her thoughts strayed to the death of Elves. When an Elf dies, either by injury or grief, his spirit departs from his body and is summoned to the Halls of Mandos, where it rests for a time. If the soul then chooses, it can be reborn into the world. There it would be given a body identical to the one it had left behind and, although they would have no memory of their previous life for many long years, as time passed they would come to remember it.

On the other hand, the spirit is not required to take life again, and can choose to remain in the Halls of Mandos. Galadriel sighed, for she feared that Legolas would choose the second path, and never again on the face of the world would he be seen. Still even in death, an Elf could not truly cease to exist, for their fates are bound to the world, and their spirits must continue to live until such time as the world came to an end.

Only to Men had Ilúvatar given the gift of death, and what awaited them was a mystery, thus greatly feared. Sweet Nimoë, thought the Elf Queen. What awaits you now?

Once inside the Golden Wood, the company traveled with haste to Galadriel and Celeborn's city. The guests were made comfortable and Galadriel set the day of Nimoë's interment for the next morning.

As night settled over Lothlorien, unearthly voices began to sing, a plaintive melody with ancient words, mourning the passing of the young Elf maid. Legolas, who was sitting in the moonlit glade near Nimoë's casket, wanted to clap his hands over his ears to shut out the lament, but there was no place to escape. Tears which he had thought dead within him leaked from the corners of his eyes, and he found he had not the energy to wipe them away. So he buried his head in his arms and allowed the Elves' lament to give voice to his boundless sorrow.

Galadriel moved past the glade on silent feet, and she looked down on him in pity. Only once had she seen an Elf die from grief, but she recognized the signs in him. He would not survive many days more.

Wresting her gaze from the doomed Elf, Galadriel continued on her way, reaching the glade where her mirror resided. With the radiant moon glow and the ancient lament as a backdrop, she dipped her pitcher into the fountain, filling it with clear water. At the bowl of the mirror, she poured the full ewer slowly, speaking words of summoning over it. Once the mirror was full to the brim, she set down the silver pitcher and opened the small pouch at her waist. With trembling fingers she pulled forth the locks of pale hair that rested safe within it. She held them only for a moment, then dropped them into the waters of the mirror.

All through the long night Galadriel remained there, whispering words of power, staring into the mirror, hoping that some light could be shed on the powerful magic which had been used to save one life, at the expense of another. Image after image sped across the surface of the water, each a chapter of Nimoë's life. Her youth in Mirkwood had been joyful, and visions of long past adventures, high in the towering trees, played like leaves in the wind.

Naldor and Glorfiane stared out at the Elf Queen, their faces kind, but unseeing, for they were also memories contained within the lock of Nimoë's hair. For hours on end the story flew by, and Galadriel learned more about the Elf maid than any other had seen. When the dawn began to break, Galadriel did not move from her place. The battle of the Pelennor Fields was beginning.

With her heart in her throat the Elf Queen watched as the transfer took place. As Nimoë collapsed on top of Eomer, Galadriel saw a brief flash of light, so quick as to have been unnoticeable to those around. Within the light she saw a small, but perfect, replica of the Elf maid. As she watched, a strange transformation occurred. The tiny figure split into two separate pieces, one holding all of the light and vitality of the original, the other dark and desolate, bent low with agony.

The figure of light reached out to embrace the figure of dark, to pull it back into itself, but, on touching it, the light recoiled, as if burned by the consuming shadow of the dark one. In the space of a heartbeat the moment was over and both manifestations sank back into Nimoë's broken body, the dark figure growing to be of a size with the true life maid. It melted into her, consuming her with its heavy shadow. The figure of light also fell back into her body, but it shrank to such a size that it was like a grain of sand when compared to the other. It lodged itself within her heart, and there it rested, emanating cold from itself, trying to save her body from the consuming death which was the doom of the figure of dark.

Tears filled Galadriel's eyes as she saw how close the figure of light had come to gaining sway over the darkness. Yet it had not been enough to save Nimoë. Only to delay death for a short while.

Relentlessly the memories continued to flood past, and Galadriel wept in earnest when she saw how the figure of darkness had pervaded the gentle maid. Deep melancholy had sat heavy on her for her last days, and even the company of her true love had not been enough to truly raise her out of the dark oblivion. It had been more than simply becoming mortal. Nimoë's fëa, or spirit, had been separated from her body, the hroa. The two separate halves lived still within the same space, but the hroa held sway, ever conscious of its own mortality, while the fëa struggled to find its way back to the wholeness it had left behind.

The sun was almost halfway to its zenith when at last the memories came to the meeting with Saruman and Grima. Galadriel flinched as the poisoned dagger struck the Elf maid, but she forced herself to keep watching, searching for any small thing that might shed more light on what had truly happened.

As Nimoë lay dying in agony, the figure of dark, which lay over her like a shadow, convulsed with her, suffering the same torment. All the while, however, the small figure of light continued to shine strong, seemingly aware of what was happening, but unable to fight it. When finally life had fled from Nimoë's body, the figure of dark began to crumble, falling away like dust into the earth. The life it represented was well and truly gone.

But what happened to the figure of light was what drew Galadriel's attention, for it did not fall away into death. As soon as life had fled, the small glowing form detached itself from her body, and it hovered for a moment over her head. Then, as if gifted with wings, it flew off towards the sky, diminishing in size as the distance grew greater.

The last thing which Galadriel saw in her mirror was a sight that filled her with awe. The small, brilliant figure of light approached a set of doors, so tall as to be higher than the mountains. As the figure drew nearer, the doors swung open as easily as if they were of no weight at all. Blinding light sprang forth from the opening, and music the likes of which Galadriel had never heard in all her long years sprang forth to greet the newcomer. With speed and joy, the figure of light entered through the doors. She was home.


	55. A End and A New Beginning

The Elf Lady's feet fair flew over the mossy ground, past golden mallorn trees, eager to share her news. When she reached the glade where Nimoë's casket was laid, the entire company was gathered, ready for the solemn burial. Legolas stood by the head, appearing to hold himself upright by sheer force of will, for there was no strength left in his body.

Gandalf spoke, "Now that you have arrived, we are ready to proceed." He turned to begin the ceremony when Galadriel's voice stopped him.

"Gandalf, before you begin I must speak, for I have news of great importance."

All eyes turned to her expectantly, for they could hear the undercurrent of joy in her voice, and they wondered what it might mean. She pulled herself to her full height and spoke, "I have looked into the mirror, and seen Nimoë's life. All of it. And in so doing I have learned something that brings great joy to my soul. It is true, as you have all now learned, that in healing Eomer, Nimoë lost her immortality. But not completely.

"Her body and her spirit became separate beings, residing in the same space, but with the body controlling all, and it was the body only which bore the doom of mortality. I have seen her spirit fly free." Now her eyes were glowing, remembering the monumental sight she had beheld. "Her fëa has returned to the Halls of Mandos. The spirit of Nimoë lives on, for it has maintained its immortality."

For the first time in long days, Legolas spoke, and his voice held the strained fear of hope, afraid to be crushed, "Are you saying that Nimoë can live on? That only her body has left this world?" The next sentence came from the very depths of his soul, and his voice was taut with suspense, "That she can be reborn?"

Galadriel beamed down at him, and nodded. "Yes. Somehow her spirit was spared from her body's mortality, although I do not understand how that came to pass. But she lives on, and I feel certain that she will choose rebirth. She knows that you are still waiting for her."

On hearing that, Legolas fell to his knees, overwhelmed by the completeness that again filled his body. As those around watched in wonder, they saw color return to his face, and fire to his eyes. There was again a reason to live. Pulling himself together he rose. "Then let us proceed to honor her body, for within it she performed great deeds."

So Gandalf began the ceremony and, with honor and reverence, and the body of Nimoë was laid to rest. There was sorrow, for many would never again see the gentle Elf maid, but for the Elves, and perhaps for Gandalf, there was joy. Although many years would pass, she would come again into the world, and they would spend many years in her company.

Once the ceremony was ended, Galadriel pulled Legolas aside. "You understand, Legolas, that the spirit must reside for a time in the Halls of Mandos. It will be many years before she can come again into this world, and when she does, she will be born as an infant. All the years of her youth she will have no memory of what has happened in her former life. Only when she has reached her maturity will her memories return. You will have to be patient."

Fire burned brightly in his eyes. "What are years to one such as you or I? I will await her return, and in that time I will do all that I can in this world to make it a more perfect place for her return."

"Glad am I to hear you say it. Now go and eat. Rest. You need to regain your strength."

Legolas nodded and left the Elf Queen watching after him. As he made his way towards the place where he food was served, his mind sped. He would still travel to Mirkwood, for Nimoë's parents had to be told what had happened, but he would not linger there. Guiltily he thought of Gimli, who had stood by him in his darkest hour, and he decided that they would travel together to Fangorn as soon as could be managed, and many other places of the world as well.

All of his companions were waiting for him to arrive, and they smiled at him in greeting, their hearts rejoicing to see him return the smile. Merry and Pippin scuttled forward to pull him up to the table, placing him in a chair which faced a plate covered with healthy foods, seasoned with berries found only in Lorien. Also there was a tall goblet filled with water, and he drank from it deeply, feeling strength flowing back into his body. As soon as the goblet was drained, Sam was there, filling it again.

Legolas reached out and dipped a slice of bread into the warm berry stew. The flavor melted onto his tongue and he smiled again at his companions, who were watching him eat. "Relax, my friends. I have returned to you. You need not hover over me like a mother over her small child. Please, sit and eat with me."

So together they ate in companionable conversation, and thus they spent their last night together as a company. In the morning Gandalf, Elrond and his sons, and the Hobbits set off for Rivendell. Celeborn and Galadriel remained in Lorien, and Legolas and Gimli set out for Fangorn, choosing to stop there first, for it was closest.

Finduél they left with the Elves of Lothlorien, for he was lonely without his mistress, and would not live to see her again. With the other horses of the Golden Wood he would be well tended to, and would not be alone.

Galadriel watched the departing figures from a perch high in the boughs of the tallest tree. Her hair blew about her like a halo, and she pushed it down with impatient fingers. Never again in Middle-Earth would she see many of them. Others she would see when she departed for Valinor. Sadness filled her heart, but also joy, for at long last, the world was truly free from shadow.

Soon the travelers had all passed from her sight, and she slowly descended to the earth. When her feet were at last on the ground, she steadfastly turned her thoughts away from those who had left, and set her mind towards her husband, and the Elves of her Wood. Life was indeed sweet. She passed by with a smile.

#

Many long years later, somewhere on Middle-Earth, an Elf woman struggled to bring her firstborn into the world. A scream was wrenched from her throat as she pushed down hard.

"Just a little bit longer, Mendiel. Keep pushing," encouraged the midwife. "I can see the head!"

A sob crept from the laboring woman's lips. "I cannot keep going! I cannot!"

The midwife's voice was stern, "Nonsense, child. Every woman has felt that way, yet still children are born. You have the strength. With the next contraction I want you to push harder than you have ever pushed before. One last strong effort should do it, and then your pain will be over."

The sharp contraction came again over Mendiel and she gasped in air, then forced her muscles to strain, ignoring the tearing pain which came over her. At last she could not longer bear it, and again she screamed out, but at the same time, she realized that the worst of the pressure was gone.

"The head is out! One more time and your baby will be born!"

One last push and the child slipped into the midwife's waiting hands. "It is a girl-child, Mendiel! As lovely as the flowers of morning!"

The infant took in its first breath and then began to wail. Both women looked at each other in awe, for the sound that sprang forth was not the usual, pitiful bleat of a newborn, but a cry of aching beauty, innocent and pure, but with a hint of the songs of the Ainur behind it. Never had they heard such a sound.

Quickly the midwife wrapped the infant in a cloth and laid her on her mother's breast. Looking down at the precious child, Mendiel was struck by the beauty and intelligence in the dark eyes. With one soft finger, she stroked the baby's soft pink cheek. It was as if some bolt of knowledge passed through her, and she smiled. "I will call her Nimoë."

#

Here ends the tale of Legolas and Nimoë, fated lovers, and how they came to be parted. What happened to them in later days is a tale not yet told.

The End.

#

**Author's Note: It's DONE! I have been agonizing over how to end this story for weeks! I hope that it has been done satisfactorily. I want you all to know that it was not my original intent to make Nimoë mortal, but when I did I ran into multitudinous problems. I have been re-reading the Silmarillion, looking for inspiration, but what helped me most were two websites that I would like to acknowledge. One was "The Encyclopedia of Arda" at **** arda/**** and the other was "The Grey Havens" at .**

**I tried my utmost to make what happened fit within the cosmology set forth by Tolkien, and I would like to hope that I have succeeded as well as I can.**

**Thank you so much for reading my work! Your wonderful reviews kept me going through the long slow process. I want you to know that this is the first piece of fiction that I have ever actually completed! AMAZING!**

**Any final words would be appreciated, either that you liked the story or did not, and why for either answer. I am striving to better myself as an author and any and all words are helpful.**

**Thank you again and I hope you enjoyed the tale. I know that I did!**


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